


The Curious Case of Angelica Dharke

by FairythePigeon (Me_aGlorifiedPigeon)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Deadnaming, Anachronistic, Arranged Marriage, Basically a period drama that is nearly zero percent accurate, Fake Character Death, Fake Confessions, False Accusations, Family Drama, Feuds, Genderfluid Sleep | Remy Sanders, Genderqueer Solidarity, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Misgendering, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Reunions, Thomas is the POV character, accidental misgendering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Me_aGlorifiedPigeon/pseuds/FairythePigeon
Summary: Ten years ago, Thomas' father failed to solve whether or not Angelica Dharke's death was suicide or murder. The courts ruled suicide, on account of a lack of evidence, but he wrote in his journal that he felt off about the ruling. Now, Thomas had decided to look into things on his own. It may be ten years too late, but Angelica Dharke deserves to be properly put to rest.The issue is, the families he's going to be looking into have been feuding these past ten years, practically at one another's throats.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Thomas Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 20
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as my internet came back up, I wrote this out, lmao. Don't worry, now that my internet is JAMMING again, I'm gonna play some catch up for Fluffuary! I'll have things back up and going soon, promise!

"So these two families have been feuding ever since this attempted union?" Thomas asked, as he stuck his tongue in his cheek and studied the papers before him.

"Yes sir," Emile said, sounding almost mournful as he continued onward, "The plan was to wed the daughter of the Dharke family to the son of the DeLite family, but Patton DeLite came out as gay, and when his parents tried to force the issue, well. Let's just say Angelica Dharke lives with the angels now."

"Angelica Dharke," Thomas muttered, studying the obituary photograph. She looked so sad and somber. Had she really been killed by the DeLites? It made no sense, for the DeLites to kill her after insisting on forcing their son into a marriage with her. But Patton DeLite, the only one with a motive, had an alibi for the time of her death, having been with Emile since lunch up until they found her body. He couldn't have killed her. "Are there other photos of her?"

"There are," Emile said awkwardly. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"What's the problem?" He asked.

"Angelica hated photos, is all. There are very few photographs of her, and the few that there are look worse than that one," Emile explained, gesturing at the grim looking young woman in the black and white portrait. Thomas sighed.

"So she wasn't a happy woman, you'd say?" Thomas questioned.

"Well, with parents like Lord and Lady Dharke, I can see why she wasn't. Not that Lord and Lady DeLite are any better," Emile said, grimacing. Thomas hummed thoughtfully.

"Aren't you part of the DeLite estate?" Thomas asked.

"Well, yes. But anyone in the house can tell you, Lord and Lady DeLite are not a pleasant couple," Emile said reluctantly.

Thomas was not trying to solve this case to convict anyone. The case had long since been put to rest, even if the feud between the two families seemed endless. Thomas was trying to solve this because it was his father's one regret. He'd read about it in his father's journal once the man had died, and Thomas decided he would accomplish what his father never could. He would find out who had killed Angelica, and put his father's soul to rest.

"I'm very thankful to them for agreeing to host me, in any case," Thomas said.

"Well, you're here to prove the DeLites didn't kill Angelica Dharke," Emile pointed out. "They'd be glad to shove further evidence of their innocence into the faces of the Dharke household."

"I see," Thomas hummed, slipping his papers back into his father's journal and binding it shut. "And Patton DeLite had grown up a friend to Angelica, hadn't he?"

"Yes, they were incredibly close," Emile agreed. "They had no secrets from one another. Angelica was very understanding when he attempted to cut off the wedding."

"This was around ten years ago, yes?" Thomas clarified.

"Yes. Angelica was barely nineteen when she died. A tragedy," Emile sighed.

"You sound as if you were very close to her," Thomas said.

"I was Patton's caretaker while he was growing up," Emile explained. "I knew Angelica through their time together. She was a very dour young thing, but she lived up to her name well."

"Dour, huh?" Thomas said thoughtfully. Emile nodded emphatically.

"She never smiled, the poor thing. Patton and I found her cold as the dead, in the DeLite's gardens," Emile said, his face looking significantly older as he sighed miserably. Thomas frowned.

“And the court ruled this a suicide?” Thomas questioned. Why would she kill herself in the DeLite’s gardens?

“They did. The Dharke’s insist that none of their family would ever bring such shame onto their house, but there’s no way it could have been anything else! I was with Patton when he found her body!” Emile insisted.

Emile was a small, round little man. His hair was a bundle of brown curls, his rosy pink cheeks freckled with chocolate milk colored spots, and his mahogany eyes were fierce and determined. All in all, he looked like a trustworthy man, and he spoke honestly. Thomas didn’t doubt that his words were the truth.

Thomas looked around at the village as the carriage drove through. It was small, quaint. A woman was selling fresh eggs from a basket, the things carefully nestled in straw. A man was selling fresh cuts of meat, blood smeared on his apron, and pigs in the pen behind him. Sitting on the curb was a beggar, a cup in hand as he watched people bustle past him.

Thomas’ gaze lingered on the beggar, who looked up at him with wide, somber looking eyes, mismatched in color and very forlorn. Something was familiar about them, but the moment passed as the beggar looked away and Emile turned the carriage down a road towards DeLite Manor.

The road was well cobbled, and the trees carefully groomed. There were fields to the right, farmers spread throughout them with various oxen and carts. And as the carriage crested the hill, Thomas spotted DeLite Manor in all its splendor.

A sparkling marble that made up the beautiful footpaths throughout the front garden caught the sunlight in a near blinding way. There were roses, marigolds, peonies, and hundreds of other flowers crammed into the spaces between the walkways. There were large unicorns carved out of hedges, brilliant and green and lovely. The roof was covered in verdant ivy, and hanging above the door and every window were batches of beautiful wisteria.

The manor would have looked positively miserable in the winter, Thomas was sure.

Emile escorted him from the carriage, leaving two young stablehands to deal with the horses. “Welcome to DeLite Manor.”

“It’s beautiful. Like something out of a picture book,” Thomas said. Emile smiled brightly.

“I’ll be sure to inform the yard workers. Now, we mustn’t keep the host waiting, hm?” Emile reminded, gesturing towards the white washed doorway. Thomas chuckled, and followed Emile to the door. The man knocked, and the door opened rather quickly.

A prim and proper looking young man stood at the door, immaculate in his fashion, and in his presentation. He wore a navy tie fastened against his black shirt collar, and a white vest embroidered with lovely cornflower blue filigree. His waistcoat was solid navy, and his black pants tucked into indigo treated leather boots. His eyes were a chillingly piercing blue, peering out from a dark face, and his hair was closely cropped to his head, but evidently quite naturally crimped and curled.

“Picani, welcome back. And you, sir, must be Mr. Thomas Sanders,” the man greeted, bowing slightly at his waist. He then stepped back, opening the door. “Come inside. Lady DeLite is in the sitting room awaiting your arrival.”

“You’re not usually the door boy, Logan,” Emile commented. The man, Logan, smirked.

“Lady DeLite used the doorbell as an excuse to get Patton alone. You know how he’s been avoiding being alone with her since marriage came back up,” Logan explained, and Emile chuckled.

“You’d think she’d realize he’s utterly in love with the yard boy,” Emile commented. Thomas raised his brows.

“The yard boy?” Thomas asked.

“Oh, it’s commonly known amongst the DeLite staff now. The yard boy, he made a big fuss about trying to court Patton the traditional way. For not having a blessing, or any money, he was doing quite well,” Logan informed. He smiled, soft and thoughtful. “Patton certainly liked him well enough.”

“Do you know his name?” Thomas asked.

“I think it’s Remus,” Emile hummed. “I’m not sure, he was thrown out of the DeLite household when he made his plan to woo Patton known.”

“So he was a yard worker  _ here _ then,” Thomas confirmed.

“Indeed. I think by now he’s found a new job with the Dharke family. His brother won’t talk about him anymore, and Patton never sees him,” Logan explained. “This feud is horrible. It’s torn so many people apart.”

“Is there anything  _ you _ can tell me about Miss Angelica Dharke?” Thomas asked, and Emile shook his head rapidly, making a cutting motion. Logan’s face went blank and emotionless.

“ _ Miss _ Dharke? They found  _ her _ dead in the gardens. They say it was suicide, that she was a miserable and unhappy woman. They did not ever see her when she was looking up at the stars, mind you,” Logan spat, his words meant to sting like acid.

“You don’t think she killed herself?” Thomas asked, and Emile sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Oh, no. No, I don’t think she did at all. I think that  _ monster _ of a man did, Lord Dharke,” Logan sneered. Thomas’ eyes widened.

“Her own father?” He asked, surprised.

“Well, she wasn’t what he wanted her to be. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d realized this and gotten angry with her,” Logan said stiffly. He stopped before a pair of doors. “The sitting room is just beyond these doors. If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but Logan was already down the hall and out of sight. Emile sighed again.

“Poor Logan. He and Angelica were rather close, as well. I think he was very fond of her. He always took the blame when she did things she wasn’t meant to be doing,” Emile commented. He put a bright smile on his face. “But enough about that. Let’s get you and the host acquainted!”

Emile knocked on the door. The murmuring from behind the doors went silent. Then, an imperious voice called out, “Enter.”

Emile pushed open the doors, revealing a beautifully lit room, glass windows spanning the entire western wall, gazing out into the window. The view was lovely, and planned out in such a way that when the sun set it would surely make the autumn tinted decorations of the sitting room feel warm and cozy. Sitting in two warm orange arm chairs, set into rosewood, were Lady Roselia DeLite and her son. She had golden curls that were all pinned up to one side of her head, and her lips were painted scarlet. Her face was thin and pale and heavily made up, her makeup almost caking over any imperfections. Her son beside her, however, was an all natural beauty, with dusty gold locks and warm blue eyes, and the sweetest smile Thomas had ever seen.

“Good afternoon, Lady DeLite. May I introduce Mister Thomas Sanders, the son of the detective who was on Miss Dharke’s case ten years ago,” Emile announced, bowing slightly at his waist.

Lady DeLite stood up, a prim smile on her face, and her son did the same. “Ah, Mister Sanders. Welcome to my home. I understand from our correspondence that you will be solving that vexing riddle for us during your stay in my manor?”

“I plan to try. My father never felt satisfied that he’d solved the case to the end. From the looks of it, he felt as if he could’ve done something more,” Thomas explained. His father’s journals had been very cryptic about this case, but he could decipher enough to know that the pieces didn’t all make sense. “And please, call me Thomas.”

“Very well! Patton and Emile can show you to your quarters, and my husband will be returning from Europe at the end of the month,” Lady DeLite informed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The lady of the house swept out of the sitting room, passing Thomas and Emile on her way. Her son, Patton DeLite sighed and dropped back into his chair with a heavy sigh. He looked up with a soft smile.

“Sorry if I’m being a tad rude, but my mother can exhaust me greatly,” Patton apologized. He waved gently. “My name is Patton DeLite. You’re here inquiring about Angelica?”

“I am. I’m told you and she were dear friends,” Thomas said, as he entered the room properly and sat gingerly on the sunset colored loveseat. Patton chuckled, looking just a bit wistful.

“We were. I think, had things been different, had either of us been different, we might’ve fallen in love,” Patton murmured. “Oh, but her heart belonged to someone else, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at women the way my fellows do.”

“Her heart belonged to someone else? Who was that?” Thomas asked. Patton shook his head.

“She’s gone now. It doesn’t matter, even if I knew,” Patton said with a heavy sigh. He turned to look out the window at the rolling hills. He shook his head again. “No, it’s been ten years. I can’t imagine you’ll learn much of  _ anything _ about this case.”

That didn’t mean Thomas couldn’t  _ try _ . And try he would. Angelica Dharke deserved to be put to rest at last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas goes into town to gather a bit more information. It's a bit of a bust, but quite a few more questions crop up.

Thomas had spent the rest of the day familiarizing himself with the layout of the manor. Patton advised that he stay out of the family wing, and Thomas had agreed that perhaps it was for the best that he avoid it. At the end of the day, Thomas had begun to unpack his things and fill out the guest wardrobe with his clothes. Then, he had undressed and dropped into the chair in front of the desk, lighting a candle as the sky out his window darkened, and poring over his father’s notes.

The photograph of Angelica he propped up against the books stacked in the corner of the desk. Her solemn expression gazed back at him, big sad eyes one a touch paler than the other, long dark hair framing her face. He would be going to see her family tomorrow, and he desperately didn’t want to stumble across anything sensitive.

Thomas had written a letter to Lord Edward Dharke. The man had responded with zeal, and demanded that Thomas come see him the day after he arrived in town. The Dharke’s were as invested in this mystery as the DeLite’s were. They had to prove that the DeLite’s had killed their precious little girl, after all, and what they saw as a slight against their family line had to be resolved.

Lord Dharke had somehow expanded his family since Angelica's death. His wife had succumbed to her illness shortly after her daughter’s assumed suicide. The only blood left was his son, Descartes Dharke. The Dharke patriarch did have a second wife, a woman who had some children of her own, but they didn’t know Angelica, so he hadn’t done much investigation into them.

_ “No, I don’t think she did at all. I think that  _ monster  _ of a man did, Lord Dharke.” _

“I hope for your sake that that isn’t true,” Thomas murmured to the photograph. The dead woman in the photo did not respond. With a heavy sigh, Thomas blew out the candle and retreated to his bed and did his best to get some rest. He hoped to get some answers from the Dharke family tomorrow, but he didn’t expect much. After all, wasn’t the feud started by the Dharkes?

They’d claimed that Angelica was murdered by Lord DeLite. The DeLite’s claimed they had nothing to do with her death, even though her body was found in their gardens. There was no evidence that she’d killed herself, or that she’d been murdered, the only item found at the murder scene was a small glass vial, but Descartes Dharke claimed she’d been taking medicine to stave off the same illness as her mother. There was no way to tell what had been in the bottle, because it was empty.

Thomas fell asleep wondering if perhaps the woman’s father  _ had _ been her undoing, and he’d swapped her medicine out for a poison.

The next morning, he broke the evening’s fast with Patton DeLite, Logan, and Emile. Thomas was the last of the four of them to make it to the table. Logan was dressed, yet again, in immaculate blue dress clothes, prim and poised and postured. His back was straight, his shoulders set. Emile, in contrast, looked far less impressive than the previous day. A casual brown sweater hung from the back of his chair, and the white cravat he’d worn yesterday had been swapped for a simple pink tie. He didn’t wear a vest, and instead wore a simple white button up shirt, and his fine leather loafers had been changed out for clean and serviceable boots.

Patton DeLite did not dress like the heir to an estate such as DeLite Manor. He wore a simple polo and plain britches, with a gray woolen sweater over his shoulders. He smiled from the head of the table and nodded at Thomas in greeting.

“Good morning, Mister Thomas,” Patton greeted. “Cookie made crepes for breakfast.”

“Cookie? The chef in the manor, I presume?” Thomas asked.

“His name is Adam Stover. He won’t tolerate being referred to as ‘Cookie’ by anyone besides Patton,” Logan informed, and he gestured to an available seat beside Emile. “Sit, Patton was just about to say Grace.”

“Grace?” Thomas questioned.

“The DeLite household is incredibly religious. Lady DeLite is even fasting today, for luck in your investigation,” Emile explained. Thomas nodded to show that he understood. He wasn’t exactly a godless man himself, but he’d fallen out of the practice of saying Grace before his meals, and had simply been surprised. They linked hands, and closed their eyes, heads bowed.

“May all be fed. May all be healed. May all be loved,” Patton said, and Thomas could feel the warmth of the words settle in his chest. It was as if the words Patton spoke were a magic unto their own, a proper gift from God. Like Patton’s wish had actually moved God’s heart, and the deity had granted it. “Amen.”

“Amen,” the others repeated.

As they dug into their meal, Logan spoke up. “Mister Sanders, where do you plan to begin with your investigation? Do you need the floor plan of the garden?”

“Please, it’s just Thomas. Mister Sanders sounds so formal,” Thomas insisted.

“You are a professional here to do a job,” Logan pointed out. “But if you insist, then I will concede.”

“The garden plans would be helpful,” Thomas stated. “But today I’m going to visit with the Dharke family. Get their story.”

Logan and Patton both fumbled with their cutlery, startled. Emile choked on a strawberry, but he coughed and said, “The Dharke family doesn’t exactly accept surprise house calls.”

“It’s not a surprise,” Thomas stated. “We’ve corresponded through letters. Lord Dharke is expecting me at noon.”

“I see,” Emile hedged carefully.

“Lord Dharke is a terrible man. I would advise looking at his every word with a healthy amount of suspicion,” Logan stated sourly.

Patton looked uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. He hesitated, before finally saying, “Just be careful over there, Thomas. The Dharke family likes to live up to their name, you know. In  _ many _ ways.”

"Well, before I head over, is there anything you can tell me about Angelica's relationship with her family?" Thomas requested. "I know the three of you knew her very well."

"I can tell you this: Angelica was never herself around her father. He had a certain image of women and demanded she fit it. She suffocated in that house," Patton said mournfully. He smiled as much as he could manage. "She's surely happier now than she ever could have been in life."

Logan stood up abruptly. "If you'll excuse me, I have duties to attend to."

Patton's brow pinched with concern. "Logan-"

"Good day, Mister DeLite, good day Doctor, Thomas," Logan said, a short bow of his head given to each of them. Then, he spun away from his chair and marched out of the dining hall.

"He's hurting something awful," Patton sighed miserably. "It's the same when anyone speaks of her."

"Well, no one has been able to move on. Not with all this bad blood between our families," Emile said pointedly.

"I won't try to convince my parents to make amends with Lord Dharke. He had our entire winter storage burnt to ashes! Our yard staff almost starved!" Patton cried out. Thomas observed the two of them quietly, stilling in his movements and moving his knife and fork from the plate.

"It's a cycle of violence, Patton. You know this just as well as I do. We need your parents to quit the cycle before we can all properly begin to heal," Emile said.

"I just- I can't. Not when I know that Lord Dharke is accusing my parents falsely," Patton said stubbornly. Thomas frowned.

"I thought he was blaming you. Because you rejected the marriage," Thomas piped up.

"Not at all. Angelica agreed with me, after all," Patton huffed. He swallowed another piece of his crepe. Thomas nodded, turning back to his own meal.

Logan was touchy about Angelica, that much was clear. He hated Lord Dharke with a passion, and blamed him for the loss of her life. Even Patton didn't trust the Dharkes, and he'd been dear friends with the heiress.

As Thomas headed into town, he couldn't help but mull over the whole thing, the feud bothering him more than the mystery. He arrived in town at nine and decided to explore and ask questions.

First he entered a sweet looking inn, behind the counter of which stood a woman with dark curls and a missing arm. She perked up when she saw Thomas.

"Ah, a new face! Would ya be looking for somewhere to stay, then?" The woman asked, and Thomas shook his head.

"No, I'm staying at DeLite Manor. I'm looking into the death of Angelica Dharke," Thomas explained. The woman's face grew somber.

"Oh, Miss Dharke. She died about ten years ago, right? Poor thing must 'ave been terribly unhappy, to take the route she did outta her situation," she said respectfully. She shook her head. "Can't say I blame her. 'Ave you seen the Dharke family? I'd probably 'ave hung myself if I were born to them."

Thomas couldn't say he cared much for her cavalier attitude towards the dead and her family. "Do you know anyone in town who might've known her better?"

"Oh, well, ya came to the right place! I know just about everyone in our little home here, so I can point ya around. My name's Sarah, and I own the Tipsy Unicorn, this cute little establishment," the woman proclaimed, smiling proudly and placing her hand on her hip. Thomas smiled.

"It's a lovely tavern inn," he said, taking in the warm and cozy atmosphere. Sarah chuckled.

"I do my best, you know," she said. "Now, you're looking for somebody who knew Miss Dharke? Well, sad to say, but that woman was about as antisocial as they come. She didn't much like talking to anyone, and she spent very little time in town."

"I see," Thomas said with a sigh. "Well, what can you tell me about Descartes Dharke?"

"Ah, Mister Dharke. He's the heir to his daddy's mining company. Real rich, real fancy. Just about everyone in town ‘as seen him. Hard to miss that big scar on his face," Sarah confessed, as she pulled a towel off her shoulder and began to wipe down a table.

"Scar?" Thomas questioned.

"Yeah, got it real young. Folks say his mama pressed a white-hot poker to his face as punishment for something when he was a kid. Like I said, I'd 'ave hung myself if I were born in that family." Sarah clicked her tongue and shook her head. Thomas himself felt a bit horrified at the very idea.

"I think I might sit down and have an early lunch before I continue investigating, would you recommend anything on the menu?" Thomas asked, eager to change the subject. Sarah snorted.

"I'll bring ya a page, pick any table," Sarah invited, and she bustled off to the counter.

Thomas cast his gaze around the room, and spotted that beggar in the corner, looking at him with sad, mismatched eyes. He was eating a simple broth, and looked like he'd been counting change. Thomas made his way over and dropped some paper money onto the table.

"Get yourself something more filling, sir," Thomas said. The beggar nodded.

"God bless you," the beggar murmured, and he lifted a worn looking purse and began to slide the money inside.

Thomas went to sit at a nearby table, but the beggar grabbed his wrist. "You're staying with the DeLites?"

"I am," Thomas said. The beggar pursed his lips, then he nodded.

"Would you- would you give Logan Ackroyd a message?" The beggar requested. Thomas frowned, but he agreed. "Tell him- tell him Virgil said sorry."

"Are you Virgil?" Thomas asked, but the beggar didn't respond. He merely pulled up his hood, took his spoon out of his bowl, and drank the last dregs of his broth. Then, he left a few coins on the table, and left the establishment. Thomas was still standing over the table, studying the fifty cents and the empty bowl, when Sarah came bustling back with a menu in hand.

"Do you know that beggar?" Thomas asked, and Sarah took in a sharp breath.

"Oh. Virgil doesn't have anything to do with your investigation, sir. He came to town nearly a year after Miss Dharke was found dead," Sarah informed. Thomas' brow furrowed.

"Does he have any connection to the DeLites?"

"Not to my knowledge, sir. The only person I see that Virgil speaking to is Mister Dharke. That man seems to be his only benefactor. Gives the poor boy money once a week," Sarah said. He hummed thoughtfully. Sarah put the menu down on the table next to the one the beggar had sat at, then picked up the money. She slipped it into her apron pocket, placed the spoon into the bowl, then took the bowl away.

Thomas sighed, and made his way out of the tavern inn. He wasn’t very hungry, after all. He looked around for any sign of the beggar, but Virgil had disappeared. He supposed it would be best to make his way towards Dharke Manor, then. He didn’t want to be late to his own meeting. He could feel a pair of eyes on him as he made his way through town. He cast his gaze about the village and froze as he met eyes with a man across the village square.

Descartes Dharke was a very easily spotted man. A gruesome burn scar marred half of his face, curling almost artfully around his eye. Thomas could see where a rumor of a poker being pressed to his face might come from. The man was nearly entirely covered, wearing a high collared dress shirt beneath a black caped overcoat, and bright yellow gloves covering his hands. He wore a derby hat upon his head, and nodded in acknowledgement at Thomas when they met eyes. He made his way over across the square.

"Thomas Sanders, I presume?" Descartes asked, coming to a stop before Thomas, his hands folding behind his back.

"Indeed. You must be Descartes Dharke. Heir to the Dharke mining company," Thomas said, offering his hand to shake. Descartes gave it a distasteful glanced, and Thomas dropped his hand back to his side after a moment.

"Yes. Pleased to meet you," Descartes muttered, sounding much the opposite of pleased.

"Are you here to escort me to Dharke Manor?" Thomas questioned. Descartes barked a laugh.

"Heavens no. That would have been a job for the staff, not I. I come into town quite regularly. I keep an eye on the goings on," Descartes explained. He looked Thomas over from head to foot, then glanced back up and studied his face. "You're not a very hard worker, I'd wager."

"I'm an actor by trade, sir," Thomas stated. "I'd call that hard work of a different caliber."

"I suppose if you must be wrong I cannot amend you," Descartes said with a sigh. Thomas' eye twitched.

"I should be heading to meet with your father," Thomas said coldly. "He was going to shed some light on Angelica Dharke."

Descartes stiffened, and he glared at Thomas. "Never speak that name to me again, Mister Sanders. My sister was dead to me long before she killed herself."

"Excuse me?" Thomas questioned, gobsmacked.

"She was a shade of a woman. I'm sure you've heard how she was terribly unhappy, solemn and somber in all her actions," Descartes spat the words like they were poison to him. "That's because she was barely ever there to begin with. A woman with less presence will never exist. I disowned that shadow a long time ago."

"But you kept track of her medicine," Thomas countered. Descartes raised his eyebrows.

"Was she taking medicine?" Descartes asked. Thomas blanched. Hadn't Descartes been the one to testify to the court that she'd been taking medicine? Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but the man slipped off into the crowd.

Thomas huffed in annoyance. Fine. Descartes would be difficult? Then Thomas would find his answers elsewhere.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas goes to the Dharke estate. He meets Lord Dharke, the ever intimidating master of the estate. The mystery just gets more complicated.

Dharke Manor lived up to its name shockingly well, for a house. It was black all over with silver accents, and dark red curtains blocking the windows. Where the DeLite Manor has a luscious and bright airy garden out front, the Dharke Manor replaced this with a wrought iron fencing and tall hedges. In the center of the entrance, framed by hedges and two basalt brick pathways, was a tall brass sculpture, dark with age. It depicted a man carrying the world upon his shoulders. The entire estate looked all together more intimidating than the inviting DeLite Manor. He spotted a yard worker trimming the hedges just to his left.

"Excuse me, sir, I have an appointment with Lord Dharke at noon. Should I just knock?" Thomas asked. The yard worker looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. He wore a simple white shirt, with dirty overalls and thick workman's boots. His messy gingery hair was streaked with silver, and a trim mustache, the only neat thing about him, adorned his upper lip.

"Do I  _ look _ like the butler? I take care of the garden,  _ sir _ , not the guests," the yard worker snorted. He turned back to his work, then paused. "Wait, who are you?"

Thomas straightened and offered his hand to shake. "I'm Thomas Sanders, I'm looking into-"

"Angelica's poisoning!" The yard worker said delightedly. He dropped his hedgecutters dangerously close to his feet and grabbed Thomas' hand in both of his. "Hello, hello, I'm Remus Fitzroy! I was working in the garden when she died!"

Thomas blinked in surprise. "Did you see her die?"

"No sir! I was trimming the roses, behind the bushes. When I came back around, she was dead as a doornail and Mister DeLite was bent over her body," Remus informed. He grinned widely. "You're in for a real whopper of a case, Detective!"

"I'm not a detective," Thomas informed. "I'm just here to put my father and Miss Dharke to rest."

"Honorary detective, then!" Remus chuckled. "Well, it's best to be early rather than late with Lord Dharke, sir, so you best go on to the door now. You can come question me later. Oh! And I have something for Pa- uh, Mister DeLite, if you wouldn't mind playing delivery boy for a bit?"

Thomas frowned. "It depends on the delivery."

Remus chuckled. "Good answer!"

The man bent to snatch up his hedgecutters, haphazardly waving the tool around. Thomas backed away and scurried towards the front door. It wouldn't do any good to get accidentally killed by a wild pair of hedgecutters before he could solve this mystery.

Thomas knocked, and before he could finish the wood fell away as the door opened. A woman looked up at him with shadowed eyes, her hair loose and around her shoulders. She wore a black work gown, and no other colors, the shade of mourning. She held the door as if prepared to shut it in Thomas' face.

"Good day, sir. How might I help you?" The woman asked.

"My name is Thomas Sanders. I have a meeting with Lord Dharke at noon," Thomas informed. The woman nodded.

"Yes, yes, come in, Mister Sanders," she greeted, and she stepped back, taking the door with her and gesturing inside with a slight curtsy.

"Please, Mister Sanders is so formal. It's just Thomas," Thomas assured. The woman looked at him with a slight grimace.

"Do show some decorum, Mister Sanders," she said. "I am certain you were taught some manners at  _ some point _ in your life."

Thomas just stared at the woman, unable to find a response. She rolled her eyes and sighed, walking down the hall. Thomas followed her, shutting the front door behind himself. He caught up easily, only a step behind her, a bit to her right.

"How much do you know about the Dharke family, Mister Sanders?" The woman asked.

"Ah, I'm aware that Lord Dharke remarried about a year after his wife's death," Thomas said. "Marrying Miss Elizabeth introduced two new heirs, but his son Descartes Dharke will still be inheriting most of the fortune, as both the eldest and the blood son."

"And the only male," The woman stated blandly.

"Excuse me?" Thomas asked.

"Lord Dharke is rather ancient in his ideals. He will only give his company over to a male. When Mister Dharke was a younger boy, he tried to deny his birthright and shove it off onto his sister. Lord Dharke was greatly displeased," the woman explained.

"Descartes told me he disowned his sister long ago," Thomas murmured. The woman shook her head.

"I've worked here since the boy was born, sir. He loved his sister more than anything in the world. He would have given his own life in exchange for hers, I'm rather certain," the woman informed. She lowered her gaze to the floor, allowing her dark grieving bonnet to shadow her face. "The poor boy was inconsolable in the days surrounding her death."

Thomas blinked. "He… he was grieving  _ before _ she died?"

"Well, certainly. Her marriage to Patton DeLite was going to take her away from him," the woman explained. Thomas hummed thoughtfully.

"How did he react to the news that she had died? I imagined he would've been the most angry towards Patton DeLite?" Thomas asked.

"Descartes never accused anyone of anything. He only testified that she was taking medicine to prevent illness, and that she had gone to speak with Lord and Lady DeLite about calling off the marriage," the woman informed. Thomas nodded. That was what he had read too, in his father's case notes.

The woman stopped at a door and knocked. Thomas opened his mouth, but she held up her hand to stop him.

"Who is it?" The voice was cold, commandeering, and almost heartless in a way. Thomas shuddered. He suddenly became very aware that his plain waistcoat and pants were the only spot of light color he'd seen in the entire Manor. Everything had been black, wine red, and iron caste.

"Mister Thomas Sanders is here to discuss the murder," the woman announced.

"Enter," the voice said, and the woman opened the door and bowed, leaving space for Thomas to enter. He did so, and the dark mahogany door shut behind him. He felt a bit like he'd been locked in a cage with a predator.

Lord Dharke was as dark and foreboding as his manor. He wore the same mournful black as his staff woman, a crimson stone brooch pinned at the top of a simple ascot, a patch of white against his morbid attire. His hair was oily and black, tied back with a wine red ribbon, and on the end of his nose sat a pair of spectacles that glittered in the candlelight underneath shockingly verdant eyes. His study, all around him, was an oppressive space. His armchair was built much like a large, wine red throne, and before the desk was another, smaller seat, a simple wooden stool.

The windows were shut tight, covered with crimson drapes and trapping out the noontime sun. It almost felt like it was evening already.

"Mister Sanders. I was wondering when you would arrive," Lord Dharke commented. Thomas tried to hide his grimace at that.

"I'm rather early, Lord Dharke," Thomas responded, as he seated himself on the stool.

"Yes, yes, I commend your punctuality. I merely meant I had been anticipating your arrival with some level of… ferocity," Lord Dharke said with a smirk. Logan's words echoed in Thomas' head, and he felt warier by the second. He glanced up above Lord Dharke's head and blinked in surprise.

The portrait above Lord Dharke's desk was not a family portrait, or Lord Dharke himself, or an ancestor of some kind. It was simply a portrait of Miss Angelica Dharke herself, somber and miserable, her black hair arcing over half her pale face and one green eye shining on the opposite side. If it weren't for that eye and the single amethyst pendant around her neck, Thomas would have sworn it was black and white upon his first glance. It seemed black was not a mourning choice in the Dharke household, then.

"Is that a portrait of Angelica Dharke?" Thomas asked. Lord Dharke sighed.

"Indeed. It's the only painting of Angelica you'll find in the entire household. My wife burned the family portrait we had in our dining room in a fit of anger when she was grieving," Lord Dharke informed. Thomas hummed to himself.

"She looks positively miserable," Thomas observed.

"Angelica would not have thrown her life away like that!" Lord Dharke spat. "She was not so  _ weak _ . None of my brood are so pathetic, nor have they ever been!"

Thomas flinched as the man slammed his palm against the desk. "I never claimed-"

"Listen, Mister Sanders. I called you here to demand that you find  _ irrefutable proof _ that the DeLite family killed my daughter," Lord Dharke sneered. "My manor is open to you for investigation. You may speak to anyone, and if anyone protests, you may show them this note."

Thomas accepted the small card and read over it, eyes widening. It was even signed with Lord Dharke's personal seal.

_ I have given this man, Thomas Sanders, the right to examine any room on my property. Lord Edward Dharke. _

"Lord Dharke, this is-"

"My will, and thus the will of my estate," Lord Dharke informed.

Thomas felt a little queasy. "What about Lady Dharke?"

"My second wife? She won't stand in your way. Good day, Mister Sanders, feel free to explore the premises."

Lord Dharke returned to his writing, ignoring Thomas rather pointedly. Thomas sucked in a breath and stood, exiting the study carefully. There was no one in the hall. Thomas frowned and slid the note into his breast pocket. He reached into his satchel and pulled out his father's journal. Unwrapping the leather cord that bound it shut, Thomas reached into the pocket in the back, slipping out a small overhead map his father had drawn.

Miss Angelica Dharke had slept on the second floor, marked in blue on his father's map. Her room had been positioned above the entrance hall, so she could exit and immediately look out over the hall from the banister.

Finding the bedroom wasn't very difficult. Thomas found himself at the door rather quickly, only to find it was the only shut doorway in the hall. He glanced through a doorway and found a young woman painting by her window, crimson curtains tied away from the view. He looked through another and found a second young woman reading by a bookshelf. They had to be Lord Dharke's stepdaughters. Thomas wandered towards the closed door and gently pushed it open.

The room smelled of dust. The booked on the desk were left carefully stood between two bookends. One, a handsome prince, the other a scholar. It didn't look like they were a matched set. Both covered in dust and stained pale from the sun. The curtains were open, and proved to have been open for years, untouched. Taking even a step onto the rug in the center of the room kicked up enough dust for Thomas to cough- no one had been in this room since Angelica had died.

It looked surprisingly plain. There were books on astronomy, piano playbooks, and even a dust covered violin, but the room didn't seem to hold much personality. Thomas sighed and sat on the bed. More dust flew around him, and he coughed. The pillows shifted at the head of the bed, and Thomas spotted something pale.

Thomas reached towards the pillows, his fingers grazing what felt like a woven canvas. A hidden painting?

"What are you doing here?" A voice called, and Thomas jumped, standing straight and spotting one of the step-Dharkes in the doorway.

"I- I was merely investigating. I'm here to figure out what really happened to Angelica Dharke ten years ago," Thomas explained. The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't that happen at DeLite Manor? What would you learn by rooting through the belongings of the dead?" Miss Dharke demanded. "Who are you?"

"My name is Thomas Sanders," Thomas stated. "And you are, Miss?"

The woman huffed. "I'm Remi Dharke. If you're going to root around a dead woman's room, the least you can do is let us know. We'd have cleaned it for you."

"This is fine," Thomas huffed. "Everything is as she left it, correct?"

"I suppose so. The last time someone cleaned this room was the day she died," Miss Remi said, casting a slightly disgusted gaze around the room. "Lord Dharke gets very upset when someone even looks at this room. Are you sure you should be poking around in here?"

"He gave me direct permission to enter any room on his property. I don't see why Angelica's should be different," Thomas commented. Remi chuckled.

"Oh, I see. Well, then go on. Just let me know if you need anything, Mr. Loophole Man," Remi teased. She disappeared from the doorway, leaving Thomas flushed. He hadn't intended to use any loopholes. He didn't know Angelica's room was known to be off limits.

Still… Thomas reached for the pillows and pulled put the canvas sheet- a rolled up square. A painting? He unrolled it and laid it down in front of him on the mattress, the small, dustless work of art.

A painting of a woman, smiling wide, her eyes closed in joy, and her dark hair crowned with a wreath of violets. Her gown was black and dour, but her face was as sunshiny as the sunflower bursts the artist had painted behind her. A painting of Angelica Dharke, smiling at her painter.

Thomas' gaze flitted to the corner where the artist should've signed it. Who had been given the honor of painting Angelica in such a mood, when even in her family's portraits she could not bring herself to smile?

Oh. Thomas rolled the painting up and slipped it into his satchel. He would need to discuss the matter with the staff at DeLite Manor.

He hurried out of the manor at that point and rushed through the front yard. He was only stopped about ten meters down the road, by a voice.

"Hey, Sanders!"

Thomas turned around, startled, spotting Remus Fitzroy waving a thick mustard colored envelope at him. Thomas walked over to the yard worker, who was still holding his hedge cutters rather precariously.

"Mister Fitzroy," Thomas greeted. Remus grinned.

"Oh, so polite! I'll have you know I'm quite spoken for, Mister Sanders!" Remus snickered. He held out the envelope. "Speaking of, if you could take this to Patton DeLite, I'd practically owe you an arm and a leg."

"What is it?" Thomas asked, gingerly accepting the manilla envelope.

Remus grinned, sharp and dangerous. "It's for Patty's eyes only, you know."

"Oh.  _ You're _ the yard worker who was sacked for courting the DeLite heir," Thomas realized. Remus nodded.

"Those DeLite cronies don't know anything about feelings! They pretend they're warm, but they're cold as ice! I don't know how my Sappy Pappy ever came from the likes of  _ them _ ," Remus informed, with quite a lot of venom. "It wouldn't surprise me to learn they  _ did _ kill Angie, if only because she told them to let Patty follow his heart. They don't like being called  _ wrong _ you know!"

"You seem to have dropped formalities," Thomas observed. Remus blinked.

"Oh, did I?" He asked.

"Did you know Angelica Dharke?" Thomas pressed.

Remus shrugged. "As much as I could. Miss Dharke never did drop her mask, you know."

Thomas' jaw felt a bit too loose. He clenched it shut and swallowed. "What do you mean her  _ mask _ ?"

"Well, do you think she was  _ actually _ that sad all the time? Miss Dharke was only sad when she was pretending. I never found out what was under the facade, but I saw her with that artist guy many times! She dropped her mask around him," Remus proclaimed. He shrugged and began to carefully trim the hedge that stood between himself and Thomas. "But my brother knew that guy better than I did. And I haven't spoken to  _ him _ in almost ten years."

Remus had been quite talkative, but in that moment his green eyes spotted something down the road. He clamped his mouth shut and bent over his work, acting ever the dedicated gardener. Thomas turned and spotted Descartes Dharke riding a horse up the road. The man slowed his horse to a stop and eyed Thomas suspiciously.

"Have a good day, sir," Thomas said, bowing quickly at the waist and turning down the road to head back to DeLite Manor. He had something to deliver and someone to question.

Did the DeLite family have someone on staff who could paint? Why was their family seal printed on a painting of Angelica Dharke? Who had brought that lovely smile to her face?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas takes his questions back to DeLite Manor. But first, he has a bit of a gay panic. It seems love is in the air for his father's unsolved case.

Thomas was beginning to regret not having asked Lady DeLite to borrow a horse. He'd been walking on foot for hours now, and his feet were beginning to cry out their protests. He heaved a sigh and perched on a fence in the shade of a large oak tree, looking out towards the DeLite family farmlands.

There was an entire field of growing wheat, but not many workers. Thomas assumed that perhaps there wasn't as much work to be done in the field prior to the harvest, not so late in the day.

"Oh, good afternoon, sir," a voice interrupted, and Thomas turned and spotted a handsome man with fiery red locks, a charming smile, and glimmering green eyes. He was dressed simply, in riding pants and a loose fitted white work shirt, simple brown boots with oddly blunted spurs at the heels.

Despite the man's own simple and practical attire, Thomas couldn't help but feel underdressed in front of him. He was wearing a plain waistcoat and his best looking shoes- perhaps the culprit of his now aching feet. Thomas ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at how damp it felt close to his scalp. He hoped the stable hand before him didn't notice.

"How can I help you?" The stablehand asked.

"Oh- I'm Thomas Sanders. I was just taking a moment to admire the land before I returned to my room at DeLite Manor," Thomas managed, barely a stutter to his words. He held out his hand to shake. The stablehand smiled.

"I see! The accountant told me all about you, I presume you've met Mister Logan Ackroyd?" He asked. Thomas nodded. The stablehand grabbed his hand and bowed, kissing it. Thomas' cheeks were on fire, he'd never met a man so  _ bold _ . "Well, sir, it's an honor to meet you! I am Roman Fitzroy, at your service!"

"You, Mister Fitzroy, are entirely too charming," Thomas said with a chuckle, lightly pulling his hand back and tucking it behind his back. It still tingled where the stablehand's lips had touched it.

"I imagine that means you have never been wooed, Mister Sanders?" Roman asked, smirking at him.

Thomas cleared his throat exaggeratedly. "In any case, would you say you're good friends with Mister Ackroyd?"

"That I am!" Roman agreed. "He's like the brother I never had, really!"

Thomas frowned. Didn't he just meet Roman's brother, Remus? Had the man really disowned him  _ that _ much? Nevertheless, he had questions he wanted to ask. "Did Logan ever speak to you about a man named Virgil? Have you ever met him?"

"Virgil?" Roman questioned. He pursed his lips, thinking for a long minute, before he finally shook his head. "I don't recognize the name at all, sir."

"I see," Thomas murmured. "And Mister Ackroyd never introduced you to anyone without giving you a name?"

"No sir. Does this have to do with Miss Angelica Dharke at all?" Roman questioned. Thomas sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It probably doesn't, but I can't help but wonder."

"Well, then figure it out. If it doesn't connect, then so be it, but it'll be one mystery solved!" Roman assured. "Did you need an escort back up to the manor? You seem a bit exhausted."

Thomas flushed. "Is it so obvious?"

"Only a bit," Roman assured with an easy laugh. Thomas’ hands felt a bit too warm and damp suddenly.

“Well, if you feel you  _ must _ escort me, I won’t stop you,” Thomas said loftily. Roman laughed again, a marvelous sound.

“Then I suppose I shall. I may not quite be a gentleman, but my Mama didn’t raise me without manners,” Roman commented, winking at Thomas and sending his lungs running off with his heart. Oh goodness, he was acting like a smitten schoolboy. Roman offered an arm and Thomas shyly accepted it, looping his elbow through the man’s. He had quite the muscular physique, and Thomas couldn’t help but admire the solid heft of this arm.

“You work in the DeLite farms, then?” Thomas asked, glancing around at the fields on either side of the road. Roman laughed.

“I suppose technically I do. I’m the head of the stables. I and my subordinates tend to the horses,” Roman explained. He shrugged easily. “It’s good work. Not exactly a step towards stardom, but I take what I can get.”

“Stardom?” Thomas asked.

“I want to be an actor. I’ve never seen a show from the audience before, but I saw an outdoor performance once as a child and I’ve wanted to perform myself ever since,” Roman explained, stars in his eyes. Thomas sucked in a breath, imagining being on stage with this man.

With his fiery locks and sunny disposition, he would probably glow like a bonfire under the lights. It would be magnificent. Thomas let a smile grace his lips. “I’m sure you’d be a wonderful actor.”

“You haven’t even seen me do anything,” Roman teased.

“As an actor myself, I just know these things,” Thomas insisted. Roman gasped delightedly.

“You’re a thespian?” He asked, and his emerald eyes were utterly glittering. “I thought you were a detective.”

“I’m the son of a detective,” Thomas corrected. “I’d love to share a stage with you someday, to show the world the talent I’m certain lies within you.”

Roman flushed, his freckled cheeks glowing as red as his hair. “I’d love that too.”

They walked in silence for a bit, Thomas trying not to put too much of his weight into Roman’s elbow. Roman thn turned to him and asked for his favorite plays. “I haven’t seen any, but I do some reading, you know-”

Thomas began to chat the man’s ear off, describing the plots of several of his favorite stage shows. Roman listened with rapt attention, green eyes filled with such interest Thomas couldn’t help but keep speaking. They had reached the gate to the main estate grounds, and Roman hovered uncertainly under the wisteria heavy arch.

“You know, the staff house isn’t far. It’s just by the back garden gate. You could dine with us for the evening? Lady DeLite won’t be there,” Roman joked, winking. Thomas chuckled.

“Is she really so bad?” Thomas asked. Sure, he had met her, but she hadn’t been as bad as Lord Dharke.

“Well, I would say not. She took me in as a child, you know, saved me from indigence. Took me in and practically raised me,” Roman explained, smiling. “Well. I suppose she left the raising up to the staff members, but she always paid our development a special sort of attention.”

“Our?” Thomas asked, wanting to hear about the other Fitzroy man from Roman.

Roman’s gaze hardened, and he looked away. “That’s not important.”

“You don’t despise your brother for falling in  _ love _ , do you?” Thomas asked, his heart sinking. He slipped his arm free of the other man’s. Roman’s eyes widened.

“You know about-? Oh, of course you do. I don’t hold anything against Remus for his  _ love _ , it’s his  _ hate _ I have a problem with,” Roman huffed. He folded his arms and glared at the wisteria climbing the side of the arch beside him. Thomas frowned.

“His hate for the DeLites, you mean,” Thomas stated. Roman let out a breathy laugh.

“Nothing gets by you, huh? Maybe you  _ should _ be a detective,” Roman commented. Thomas rolled his eyes and looked at the stablehand expectantly. He sighed, and nodded. “Lord and Lady DeLite have given us everything. Sure, they aren’t the most  _ accepting _ of Patton- er, Mister DeLite- but they could do a lot worse than demand an heir out of their only son.”

“Remus seems to think they killed Anglica Dharke,” Thomas said.

“And if he had any proof, I might have joined him! But I was with him in the garden when the body was discovered. We left Angelica shortly before the incident, and she was  _ alone _ . No one else was in the garden but us,” Roman insisted. He sighed heavily. “I just- I just don’t believe anyone would want to kill her. She was… she was a bit prickly, to be sure, but she was a wonderful soul.”

“You knew her very well, then?” Thomas asked. Roman chuckled, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t call us friends. In fact, she insulted me more often than she spoke kindly to me, but it wasn’t malicious, I think. But Logan loved her, and he is my very best friend,” Roman explained. He looked incredibly sad after a moment. “Her death has been hard on him, but the ensuing fights between the households these past ten years have given him a lot of work. He’s the DeLite family accountant, after all.”

“I’m sorry. Her death was no doubt hard on you, as well,” Thomas whispered. Roman looked up in surprise. Thomas huckled bitterly, realizing that the man had never thought about it the way he’d said. “You grew up here, a friend to Patton, didn’t you? That’s how your brother fell in love with him, after all. You must have known her for a very long time, then. You must have been terribly shaken by her loss.”

Roman took in a sharp breath. “I… she never even liked me, I don’t think. We weren’t friends. I can’t tell you how many times I complained to Logan about her.”

“You can still mourn her,” Thomas informed. “It’s clear the two of you were on better terms than you both realized.”

Roman let out a thick breath, and his eyes watered. “Nothing gets by you. Like I said, a detective.”

“I’m just intuitive,” Thomas said with a soft smile. Roman stepped aside.

“If you do want to eat in the staff house, the invitation is still open,” Roman offered. Thomas shook his head.

“I have something for Mister DeLite from your brother. Unless Logan eats in the staff house? I have questions for him." Thomas fidgeted with the strap of his satchel. Roman shook his head.

“Logan and Emile share meals with the family,” Roman supplied. “They also stay in the main house, since they work personally with the DeLites. You should find Logan in his room at this time, it’s by the music room.”

Thomas thanked the beautiful man, who smiled charmingly at him before wandering through the garden, heading around the end of the enormous manor. Thomas passed the elegant fountains and beautiful flowers and knocked on the door, greeting the maid who opened it pleasantly.

Patton DeLite sat in the greeting room, the doors from the hall wide open, and Thomas pulled the cream colored envelope from his satchel, entering the room. "Mister DeLite?"

Patton looked up, big blue eyes blinking owlishly behind golden wire spectacles. "Why, Thomas! I thought I told you to just call me  _ Patton _ ."

"Right, of course, sorry. I have something for you," Thomas informed. Patton closed his book, slipping the attached ribbon between the pages and setting it down. He stood up.

"I don't know what you might have for me, but don't go keeping me in suspense," Patton teased. Thomas handed over the envelope, and Patton opened it with a skeptical eyebrow raised. Then, his entire face went slack with surprise, and he slid a fat wad of bills from the envelope. Thomas stared at the money in shock.

"Who would send me money?" Patton asked, and he fished out a small stained letter from inside.

"Uh, Remus Fitzroy told me to give this to you," Thomas stated. Patton nearly dropped the money and the letter, but he quickly began to gather himself together. He tucked the money back into the envelope safely, and sat back down, unfolding the letter with a careful sort of urgency. His face was blank and unreadable.

Thomas stood, rooted to the spot in his curiosity, and yet feeling as though he was an intrusive presence. It didn't last long. After only moments, Patton broke the spell with a delighted, tearful gasp of a laugh, and a hand covered his mouth.

"Good news?" Thomas prompted.

"He wants to run away with me. He still wants me," Patton said happily, on the verge of joyful weeping.

"Of course he does." Thomas' chest felt full and he couldn't help but smile back at the DeLite heir.

Patton shook his head. "I just thought- after what my parents did to him-"

"Remus knows you are not your parents," Thomas promised. He knew that much just from talking to the man. Patton laughed joyfully.

"This is- this is  _ wonderful _ . I need to draft a response right away!" Patton gushed, and he made a move to get back up and leave. He stopped, and wilted a bit, looking at the envelope in his hands with a strange new air of hopelessness.

"Do you not get mail between the two estates?" Thomas interrupted, and Patton looked at him curiously.

"Well, not really. Not that we can't, but with all the bad blood, who would want to?" Patton asked.

"You, clearly," Thomas pointed out. Patton blushed.

"I- I just thought… well, Mother would surely notice. She'd probably bring back the idea of marriage if she knew I still thought about my Remus," Patton explained. Oh.

Thomas had been so caught up in the idea of Patton and Remus finding happiness together by running away, he'd completely forgotten what they needed ro run away from.

"I'm sorry," Thomas said. Patton shook his head.

"No, no. I know what Remus wants now, and I know that I want the same. That's all thanks to your being here to deliver the message," Patton reassured. He gathered his things. "I'm still going to draft a letter. If you would, could you send it back to him for me? That way Mother won't know."

Thomas smiled. "Anything for love."

Patton smiled back, warm and bright and slightly sad. Thomas supposed that the man  _ was _ contemplating leaving home forever. That had to be enough reason all on its own.

Thomas made his way through the manor, asking for a few directions from a few maids. Eventually he found himself at Logan Ackroyd's door. He knocked, and the door swung open easily. The room was empty, and  _ dark _ . Odd, considering it was still a good couple of hours until the sun set, and the curtains in the rest of the household did nothing to keep out the sun.

Thomas wandered into the room. There were several canvases around, and Thomas had to be careful he didn't knock anything out of place. Finally he reached the dark shape of the drapes, and he pulled them open.

Light flooded in through the window, illuminating bookshelves stuffed with thick volumes, a bed covered with papers and fountain pens, and a single capped ink bottle on the bedside table. There was another table on the other side of the room, and a writing desk to one wall, but that was all meaningless in the face of what Thomas discovered.

Each canvas was a beautiful blooming portrait of the same woman, dark hair, a brilliant smile, a dour looking dress with crimson gemstones decorating it. In some, she stood out amongst a backdrop of nebulae, stars sprinkled all around her. In some, she lay in fields of brightly colored flowers, somehow outshining all while still being complimented by their beauty. In one, a painting Thomas looked away from with a burning face, she wore nothing, covered simply by a blue sheet that matched the ones covering the bed.

In some, a bright green eye peered at the artist, filled with love and joy and bliss. In others, her eyes were closed, but her smile held all the same feelings. But every painting was the same. Portraits of Angelica Dharke that had never seen the light of day. All were signed with the DeLite family seal.

A heavy book hit the ground behind him and Thomas whirled to face the door. Logan Ackroyd covered his face with one hand, his entire face as red as a rose. "Close those curtains, the sun will bleach them!"

Thomas did as the accountant and artist said, and shut the curtains. Logan quickly shut his door and picked up his book from the ground. The room was dark a minute before Logan lit a candle. He placed the candle on the table and began to shuffle the paintings about.

"You truly loved Angelica, didn't you?" Thomas asked softly, as Logan carefully put the paintings away and draped a cloth over them for good measure.

"I won't answer that," Logan muttered bitterly. Thomas pursed his lips, but he dropped the subject.

"I investigated her room and found another of your paintings. You're quite talented," Thomas said. Logan shrugged. Once the paintings were all safe, he carefully pulled back the curtains, letting sunlight stream in once again.

"I was raised as a painter. My parents struggled with money, and while they were saddened when I took up study as an accountant, they believed it was the best path I had available to me," Logan explained simply.

"They didn't think you could make a masterpiece?" Thomas asked.

"They didn't think any masterpiece I made would be recognized for its true worth while I lived," Logan corrected. "Great painters rarely get appreciated during their time."

"I suppose they don't," Thomas agreed. He offered Logan the painting, and the man's brow creased. His eyes shone, but he didn't even begin to cry.

"Thank you," Logan murmured.

"Oh, and Logan?" Thomas piped up. Logan raised his eyebrows in question, lifting his gaze off the painting. "Virgil says sorry."

Logan dropped the painting, and tears slipped down his face. His hands clasped over his mouth, and his entire body shook. He stumbled backwards and put a hand on the table to steady himself.

"Logan?"

The man in question looked at him with a hard expression. "Where did you hear that name? Who gave you this message?"

"A beggar in town," Thomas explained, suddenly very worried.

"Was he- what did he look like?" Logan demanded.

"He was all skin and bones. I gave him money for food. He had dark hair, and green and blue eyes-"

Logan interrupted him with a hollow laugh, more tears streaming down his face, fogging up his glasses.

Thomas felt a churning in his gut. "Logan, who is Virgil?"

"I… I loved him," Logan said simply. And the man closed his eyes, silently weeping.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circumstances of Angelica's death just get more and more strange. Or rather, not the circumstances- but the people affected.

Logan had demanded privacy and practically chased Thomas out of his room. He was absent at dinner that evening. He wasn't present at breakfast the next morning either, though Lady DeLite was. She questioned Thomas on his investigation, and he confessed that there wasn't much to learn, so long after the fact. He asked for a horse, so that he could head into town and investigate more thoroughly.

Then, after the meal, Thomas asked, “Lady DeLite, on the day she died, Miss Angelica was coming to see you, wasn’t she?”

“Oh yes,” Lady DeLite sighed. “She had asked to see me and my husband, to discuss her marriage to my son.”

Patton grimaced from his seat, and Emile smiled sadly at him. Thomas hummed thoughtfully. “How did that conversation go?”

Lady DeLite sighed. “She came to us saying that she would not marry Patton if it would make him unhappy, because she understood that he would be unable to love her. She confessed that she loved another, and it was hurting her enough that she wouldn’t be able to be with him, let alone that she would be marrying another.”

Emile and Patton exchanged looks. Thomas filed away the idea to ask them what they knew of that. Lady DeLite wasn’t done.

“My husband and I insisted that the marriage had to go forth, and Angelica… she told us not to expect to see her again,” Lady DeLite finished. Thomas jerked his head back to her.

“She said that?” Thomas demanded. Lady DeLite nodded.

“I can only assume that it was her last attempt to stop the wedding before she resorted to taking her own life,” Lady DeLite stated calmly.

“Excuse me, but I need to go,” Patton murmured, getting up from his seat. Lady DeLite sighed as her son hurried out of the room.

"He's always been such a sensitive boy. It's been ten years, and he still gets distraught thinking about Angelica. He blames himself for not helping her, you know," Lady DeLite said. With that, the conversation died.

After that train wreck of a conversation, Thomas went to change. He couldn't very well ride in his everyday clothes, now, could he? Besides, he wanted to look his best today. He had to make a good impression on… on the horses. Then, he stopped by Patton's quarters.

"Mister DeLite?" Thomas called, knocking on the open bedroom door. Patton startled, looking up from his desk.

"Oh, Thomas. I'm sorry for running from breakfast. That was quite unbecoming of me," Patton said, faking a smile.

"No, that's alright. Your mother was being rather insensitive," Thomas said. He swallowed. "As was I. I know it was ten years ago, but that doesn't matter. Grief is grief."

"But I'm  _ supposed _ to have moved on," Patton whispered, looking at a framed photograph on his desk. "It's been too long to still be miserable. Too long to keep missing her."

"You can keep missing her as long as you need to, Patton. You can miss her forever, if that's what you need," Thomas said. He took a deep breath. "I… I lost my father not too long after he finished this case. He came home and… well, he got sick. Cholera, apparently. He died a year later, but he left a journal full of his regrets. I got home from the tour with my troupe, and… well, the only regret I could do anything about was this case. So, I'm going to bring my father closure. And with it, bring you and everyone else closure. You don't have to be this sad all the time. But you can still miss her."

"That's incredibly noble of you," Patton sniffled. "I'll admit, I had wondered what was so intriguing to you about this case."

"Just as I wonder- would you like me to take anything to Remus? I'll be heading to Dharke Manor later this afternoon, if all goes according to plan," Thomas said. Patton lit up.

"I do! Yes, give me a moment," Patton said, and he crossed his bedroom, reaching under his pillow and pulling free a letter sealed shut with blue wax. The DeLite family seal was pressed into it. "For Remus' eyes  _ only _ , Mister Sanders!"

"Of course," Thomas agreed, smiling. He tucked it into his satchel, not noticing the way Patton's attention caught on his clothing.

"Oh, what are you dressed so finely for?" Patton asked.

"Excuse me?" Thomas asked. Patton chuckled.

"Your clothes. They're nicer and more expensive than what you've been wearing this week," the heir informed, smoothing down the silk of his own vestments. Thomas' cheeks burned.

"Is it too much? I'm going riding," Thomas said. Patton's eyebrows bounced up.

"Oh! You've met  _ Roman _ , then," Patton said, his expression turning near cat-like as he smirked. "Isn't he such a darling little charmer?"

"Perhaps," Thomas said, his face on fire. "That is neither here nor there."

"Oh! And you're both actors! Oh, how adorable," Patton gushed, grabbing Thomas by his hands. He gasped suddenly, delighted beyond measure. "Maybe one day, we'll be brothers by law!"

"Now, that's going a bit far- I've only just met him!" Thomas protested. Patton giggled.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry! I got carried away! Oh, Angelica would have been so  _ happy _ to see Roman find someone," Patton sighed happily. "They acted like enemies, but I knew better. They were close friends, those two. Almost as close as she and I had been."

"But not as close as she and Logan were," Thomas interrupted. Patton's smile froze, turning a bit hollow.

"No. No, I suppose not. Have you known this whole time, then?" Patton asked.

"Angelica was in love with Logan. When you said her heart belonged to someone else, you meant the family accountant," Thomas stated. Patton pressed his lips together in a closed lip smile.

"She did love him. And I think he might've loved her in return. But she's gone now," Patton said.

"I see," Thomas sighed. He frowned. But how did  _ Virgil _ fit into this? "I really should be heading into town. This mystery is starting to eat up all my mental space."

"Of course! Make sure that letter gets to Remus, please," Patton said. Thomas nodded and promised. Then he went off towards the stables.

He was greeted by the sight of Roman, his sleeves rolled up and a pair of leather gloves on his hands. Some of his ginger locks stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his smile was blindingly white and pleasant.

"Well, well, someone's looking mighty dapper this fine morning! What can I do for you, honorable detective?" Roman asked. He placed the horse brush in the bucket and began to pull off his gloves. Thomas blushed.

"I'm not a detective. I need a horse for my outing today, someone calm and well tempered," Thomas said. He laughed. "I'm not exactly the best of riders."

"Nonsense, anyone can ride! In any case, our gentlest mare would be Fiona. She's gentle, but she won't stand for any nonsense, fair warning," Roman informed, leading Thomas to a paddock with a beautiful chestnut horse standing within, a white starburst stretching from brow to muzzle.

"She's lovely. I'll take her for the afternoon, then," Thomas said. Roman smiled.

"Fiona's my personal horse, you know," Roman informed. "I know you'll take very good care of her."

Thomas flushed. This man! He'd be the death of his poor little heart. “Thank you.”

“I’ll go get her tack, you two get acquainted,” Roman offered. Thomas smiled as the stable master walked off, his eyes dipping down towards his backside. Fiona nudged his face and huffed, and Thomas laughed, turning his attention towards her.

“Sorry, pretty pony, I was a bit distracted. Your rider is very charming,” Thomas apologized. Fiona nickered softly, then tossed her head as if nodding in agreement. Thomas couldn’t help his grin. He looked her over carefully, taking in the details. “Are you a Hanoverian? I’ll admit, it's the only horse breed I know the name of.”

"She's an Irish Draught," Roman informed, coming back around the stables with a lovely red-brown saddle.

"How do you get this sort of color? It looks like red cedarwood," Thomas marvelled.

"Well, I  _ am _ a DeLite ward. I get certain privileges, and one of those is this heirloom saddle. It belonged to Lord DeLite's uncle. Apparently, he rode it into a war," Roman explained as he perched the saddle on the paddock door. He gave Thomas a once over, and his eyebrows lifted. "Really though, you look  _ particularly _ dashing. I'm glad you've got some sensible riding boots, as well."

Thomas' face felt like it was on fire. "Thank you. You look rather nice yourself."

Roman was the kind of man who clearly knew exactly how stunning he was, because he slicked his hair back with one hand and struck a pose, showing off his rather firm and well built arms. "I should hope."

Thomas' ears were burning now too, and his heart was stuttering in his chest. Roman laughed pleasantly. He turned to enter the paddock and began to brush Fiona down.

"What's today's plan?" Roman asked.

"Oh- I'm going into town to learn more about this Virgil character," Thomas explained. Roman hummed.

"Really? Does he have anything to do with Angelica, do you think?" Roman asked.

"Like I said yesterday, I don't know. It just bothers me, and I really wanna figure it out," Thomas said.

"Then godspeed. I hope this mystery soon ceases to plague you."

Thomas thanked the handsome stablehand, both for the words and for dressing Fiona for him.

The ride into town was uneventful up until he was beginning to dismount and a horse trotted up to his side.

"Don't dismount, ride with me," Descartes commanded under his breath. Thomas blinked and stared wide eyed at the man, who had slowed into a walk. Thomas nudged Fiona, and she pulled ahead once again, falling into step with the black paint horse ahead.

"This was odd of you,"Thomas commented.

"I would like my sister's property returned," Descartes demanded. Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"The painting? You said she was dead to you long before she took her life," Thomas reminded.

"What I feel towards my long dead sister is none of your concern," Descartes scowled. Thomas frowned.

"I returned it to the painter, I'm afraid. Did you kill her?" Thomas asked. Descartes glared at him.

"She planned the entire thing. She didn't want to be forced to live a lie. She drank a poison that would stop her heart," Descartes explained.

"And you bought her this poison," Thomas sneered. Descartes scowled. He gestured at the curving, almost elegant scar on his face.

"Did anyone ever tell you how I acquired this scar? It's quite the gossip about town," Descartes demanded.

"I heard the rumor. I'm not quite sure how true to life it is," Thomas said, toning down the bitter anger he felt towards a man who would aide his sister's death.

"Well. I'd say it was accurate. My mother was not of a very sound mind. Everything had to be perfect. When it was proved that I, even as a child, was not the  _ perfect male heir _ she expected, she took the coal poker, held it in the flames, and had the servants hold me down while she seared my imperfection onto my face," Descartes described. Thomas felt sick just hearing about it. Descartes scowled. "Angelica was not perfect either, but she hid it well. And when she couldn't, I did it for her. Think what you will of me, but I only ever helped her do what she wanted."

“You might as well have killed her yourself,” Thomas snapped. Descartes raised his brows, looking at him with an unimpressed gaze.

“As I said: think what you will of me,” Descartes said, and he spurred his horse in a new direction, away from Thomas. Thomas slowed Fiona to a stop once again and scowled. He turned around and steered her towards the tavern inn.

Sarah was bustling about the tavern, filling glasses and leaving plates in her wake. Thomas sat himself on a stool by the bar and waited patiently. It took several minutes, but Sarah finally approached him.

“What would you like to drink, Mr. Sanders, sir?” Sarah asked, a bright smile on her face.

“Just water. I actually had a question- do you know where I could find Virgil?” Thomas asked. Sarah raised an eyebrow, but she nodded.

"Like I said, I know just about everyone around," Sarah proclaimed. "Did he do anything wrong?"

"No. I just think he could elucidate some things for me," Thomas assured. Sarah nodded and began to describe where Thomas could find the beggar usually.

As it turned out, the man had a shaky little lean-to on the outskirts of town to the south. As far from the west Dharke Estate and the east DeLite Estate as one could be.

Fiona easily led him down to the lean-to, under the bridge train tracks, by the river.

"Virgil?" Thomas called, but it was clear that there was no one there. Thomas sighed and dismounted, patting Fiona's neck lovingly. He stepped under the bridge supports, examining the little camp. Spare wooden boards and metal siding were carefully organized into a little hut, and driftwood was collected in a pile to dry. In a small hollow in the ground there were ashes and pieces of charred wood. And a strangely beautiful box sat under a dirty rag. It looked like a temporary living arrangement that had become far too permanent.

Thomas looked into the hut and froze. Fiona whinnied behind him, and he heard footsteps.

"H-hey! Get away from there!" Virgil's voice snapped at him, and Thomas stumbled back from the hut. Virgil rushed forward and looked into his hut as well, before swallowing rather obviously. He glared at Thomas. "No one invited you to come poking your nose in my business! Where do you get off rooting through my-"

"You're alive," Thomas blurted, catching Virgil off guard. "You're alive, and your name is Virgil."

Virgil didn't respond, merely ducked into his small hut without a word. Thomas followed. The hut was small enough that they were only a few feet apart.

A painting by Logan Ackroyd was carefully and lovingly nailed to the wooden panels making up part of one wall. A painting of the beggar standing before him, dressed in Logan's clothes, with long silken hair, a satisfied smirk, and green and blue eyes. A painting of "Angelica Dharke."

"You're  _ Virgil Dharke _ ," Thomas stated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is the key to the entire mystery, as Thomas learns. He refuses to reveal himself, however. Elsewhere, the situation grows dire. Perhaps this is what Virgil needs to push him to do the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that putting my reveal a whole chapter early totally derailed my original plot line?

"You can't tell  _ anyone _ !" Virgil pleaded. Thomas just looked between him and the painting, utterly shocked. With this new information, things just fell right into place. All except…

"You only told your brother?" Thomas asked. Virgil shook his head.

"You wouldn't understand," Virgil insisted. "It was- it was  _ horrible _ growing up in that house. Growing up with- with the lords and ladies who couldn't see who I really was. Who wouldn't  _ look _ ."

"So you faked your death!?" Thomas demanded, absolutely dumbstruck.

"No! Angelica  _ is _ dead! That- that stupid facade of mine, that stupid empty headed girl that I pretended to be is dead and buried and gone!" Virgil snapped. He ran his hands through his hair. "But… but Virgil is alive. And that's me. And I can't let  _ anyone  _ know that I'm alive, or they'll try to bring back Angelica, and she's  _ gone _ , she  _ never was _ !"

"I understand," Thomas said, and he raised his hands. "But even if you came back as  _ Virgil _ , I'm sure your father would be absolutely delighted."

"Have you  _ met _ my father?" Virgil demanded.

"I… have had the distinct displeasure of doing so, yes," Thomas confessed. Virgil snorted.

"Then you know exactly why telling him anything would mean going back into the closet," Virgil huffed. Thomas frowned.

"You told me to tell Logan you were sorry. If you wanted him to think you were dead-"

"I didn't want that!" Virgil huffed.

"Then what  _ did _ you want?" Thomas asked irritably.

"I just wanted to get away. I wanted Logan to come with me, but I didn't know how, so when I left, I planned to write him a letter," Virgil explained. He smiled sadly. "My new name was going to be Virgil Ackroyd, if he'd have me. It would've been perfect. I was going to ask him to join me in the city, but before I could even settle in, I caught wind of what had happened here."

"The feud," Thomas stated. Virgil looked positively miserable.

"I came right back, I was going to set everything straight, and then…" Virgil's odd colored eyes flickered to the ground.

"Descartes found you out," Thomas said. Virgil laughed, shaking his head.

"The whole plan was his idea. He found me with a knife in my bedroom and panicked. Then, he concocted a plan to keep me alive  _ and _ happy," Virgil explained. He knelt to the ground, resting his forehead against the seal on the painting. "I… I didn't want to hurt anyone, I just wasn't thinking. I'm never thinking, just…  _ panicking _ ."

"How did you do it?" Thomas asked. Virgil shrugged.

"Descartes promised me he'd find something. He gave me a bottle with something in it that he claimed would put me to sleep long enough to fake it. I drank it in the garden after I said my goodbyes," Virgil explained. He shuddered. "When I woke up, I was in the family mausoleum, Descartes standing over me with a light. I'm… I'm desperately glad I didn't wake up while I was still in the crypt."

"So Descartes was in on it, and no one else," Thomas said.

"Yes. And you can't tell  _ anyone _ !" Virgil snapped.

Thomas sighed. "Who else knows you've been a man this whole time?"

Virgil's entire body relaxed at the words. He shook his head. "Only Descartes and Logan. I never told anyone else."

"You… you should see your father again," Thomas said. Virgil shook his head.

"No, I can't. I can't be Angelica again, I can't. I'll die, I really will, if I have to be her again," Virgil insisted. Thomas frowned, but he nodded.

"Fine. Then I'll… figure something out. But I'm coming back tomorrow to talk things out. I think you should at least try to make him understand," Thomas said. Virgil took a trembling breath.

"Did Logan say anything? When you gave him my message?" Virgil asked.

Thomas hesitated. Then he shook his head. "He just cried."

Virgil dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Will you see him? At least?" Thomas asked. Virgil sucked in a breath.

"He can't see me like this," Virgil stammered.

"Why not?" Thomas asked.

"He- he just  _ can't _ ! I'm a mess, and- and I've changed too much- and… and…" Virgil was lost for words. Thomas sighed.

"At least see him. Give him your message yourself," Thomas said. He exited the hut and mounted Fiona. "Let's go girl, back to town."

Thomas was just approaching when he heard Logan Ackroyd's voice ring through the town center.

"Descartes Dharke!" Logan shouted, and townspeople began to gather, muttering to each other. Descartes, having just exited a tailor's store, turned to eye the accountant walking up to him.

Thomas slowed Fiona's steps, curious.

"Ah, Mister Ackroyd, I believe? Funny, you aren't typically one to start things," Descartes said. Logan scowled and smacked the richer gentleman across his face. The gathered crowd fell silent. Descartes blinked. "Did you just-?"

"How  _ dare _ you!?" Logan spat. "How dare you hide this from me?"

"Oh, you figured it out did you?" Descartes huffed. "Did you see him in town? Or maybe he put on his big boy pants and went up to the estate."

"So he  _ is _ alive," Logan growled. He grabbed Descartes by the collar. "How did you do it!?"

A man dressed in the house colors of Dharke Manor rushed forward and shoved Logan away from his master's son.

"Keep your hands to yourself, you bastard!"

A DeLite family stablehand punched that servant in the face.

"Lay another hand on him and I'll knock out your teeth!"

Thomas' eyes went wide as suddenly a fight broke out, and villagers began shouting and hollering and running. Fiona let out a terrified whinny and reared back. Thomas held tight, trying to maintain his balance. Thomas spotted the DeLite's open air carriage coming into the square, Patton sitting inside it with his mother, the two of them staring at the growing mob, upset but unsurprised.

Thomas' eyes widened as he spotted a Dharke family carriage pulling into the town square at the same time. Dear god, the pandemonium was only growing.

"ENOUGH!" Two voices cut through the cacophony, and Thomas saw Lord Dharke and Lady DeLite step out of their carriages. The fighting halted immediately.

"What petty ridiculous thing has your house started a brawl over now," Lord Dharke demanded.

"Petty!? That sounds more like your estate if you ask me," Lady DeLite scowled.

"Go on then  _ Descartes _ ," Logan snapped. "Tell them the truth. Tell them what really happened to Angelica Dharke."

Thomas could see the gears turning in Descartes head.

"Logan, what are you talking about?" Lady DeLite demanded. "The poor girl killed herself."

"Or so you'd have us believe,  _ murderer _ !" Lord Dharke sneered.

"Because it is  _ true _ !" Lady DeLite snapped, as her son joined her at her side.

"It is not," Logan corrected. "Why don't you enlighten us, Descartes?"

Descartes huffed. "Very well. I never bought my sister any medicine. The bottle, whatever it was, most assuredly killed her."

"What!?" Logan demanded.

"Ha! There you have it, suicide plain and simple!" Lady DeLite said decisively.

"I refuse to believe such a lie!" Lord Dharke argued. He pointed a finger at Patton DeLite. "You were the one found standing over her body! You administered the poison!"

"No!" Patton cried out. "She was my dearest friend, I had no reason to kill her!"

"The evidence points to you!" Lord Dharke insisted.

"You're being desperate!" Lady DeLite spat. "Only moments ago, you claimed that the evidence pointed to me!"

"Well, if not Patton DeLite, then who? My daughter was of strong stock," Lord Dharke sneered.

"It was me!"

Thomas stared in horror as Remus Fitzroy ran forward.

"No!" Patton shrieked.

"I killed Angelica Dharke!" Remus lied. Of course it was a lie- it was  _ all _ a lie. "I was- I was bitter and jealous, so I poisoned her in the garden and pretended to find the body when I heard Mister DeLite cry out!"

"You," Lord Dharke snarled. "And to think I welcomed you into my home after that."

"No, Remus didn't- wouldn't do it!" Patton cried out desperately, but no one listened, as Lord Dharke called for the police. Thomas tried to speak up, to be heard, but by now the crowd was shouting and screaming at one another. The mob dispersed, everyone rushing to get away as the police made their arrest. Lord Dharke went on his way to his business, continuing on the way to the Dharke family mines, and Lady DeLite dragged Patton off, murmuring about cancelling dinner and going home to rest after the dramatics of the day.

Soon, it was only Logan, Descartes, Thomas, and Fiona.

"You'd let this happen," Logan scowled. "You'd let an innocent man be tried for a murder that never happened."

"I didn't make him confess," Descartes argued.

"No, you only fanned the flames of your father's ire," Logan spat.

"That's it," Thomas interrupted, finally advancing towards the two of them. "You've both done enough. Virgil wouldn't want this."

"Virgil? The beggar?" Descartes asked, acting aloof.

"I know the truth now, Descartes. You saved your brother from one life of lies only to trap him in a new one," Thomas accused. Descartes flinched and turned his gaze away.

"It's true then," Logan said. "He lives."

"He does," Descartes admitted finally, sighing. "And he… he won't stand for this, it's true. It's time to come clean."

"We'll need to convince him," Thomas informed. He turned to Logan, studying his bruised face. "Are you alright?"

"Nothing too horrid," Logan sighed, smoothing his hair into place. "Nothing is broken except my pride."

"And what's a little pride in the face of an innocent man going to prison?" Descartes muttered.

"He wouldn't be, had you been honest," Logan sneered.

"I honestly expected my father to accuse me!" Descartes proclaimed. "I didn't expect him to turn onto Patton DeLite."

"After ten years, I think he's determined to make one of them out to be a criminal," Thomas sighed. "He asked me to find irrefutable proof that a DeLite killed Angelica, but all I found was Virgil."

"Dear god in heaven," Descartes groaned, and he rubbed one gloved hand over his eyes.

Thomas stood, almost unsure of what to do next. The letter from Patton sat heavy in his bag, but the recipient had been carted off to a holding cell. He opened his mouth, but shut it, lost for words.

Logan was the one who solved his issue for the next step. "I'd like to see Virgil, if either of you would be so kind as to take me to him. Please."

"I'll do it," Descartes said, his words weighted with a sigh. "I have to tell him about what happened here, anyway. Are you coming, Thomas?"

"I… I have a letter for Remus, but I can't very well deliver something to him while he's being questioned," Thomas said. He hesitated only a moment longer. "I will join you. I think I need to be there when he decides to come forward."

"Fair enough," Descartes said, making his way to his horse, who was still patiently waiting outside the tailor's shop.

"Did you bring a horse?" Thomas asked Logan, and the accountant shook his head, grimacing a little.

"I've never been a particularly good rider," Logan confessed. "That's something my friends have always been better at."

"Then we'll walk. Give Achilles and your mare a bit of a break," Descartes assured, rejoining them. "Come along, we haven't all day. Virgil lives down by the river, under the train tracks."

The same trek down to the river took longer on foot, but eventually they made it down. Logan was staring at the little campsite, drinking in everything with a blank expression. Descartes ignored it all, going towards the hut and rapping his knuckles against the wooden door frame.

"D!" Virgil appeared in the door frame, his eyes wide. "D, I'm so sorry, I- Mister Sanders?"

Thomas saw Logan suck in a deep breath at the sound of Virgil's voice. Virgil hadn't spotted Logan yet, it seemed.

"V, it's over," Descartes informed. Virgil's eyes widened.

"What? D, I can't go back," Virgil protested. Descartes shook his head.

"On the contrary, you can't  _ not _ . The current theory is that Remus Fitzroy killed Angelica Dharke," Descartes informed.

"Who would ever say that!?" Virgil exclaimed. "I thought you said everyone but Father was convinced it was suicide!"

"And they were! But then Father publicly accused Patton DeLite and the bigger of the two Fitzroy idiots stupidly made up a confession!" Descartes proclaimed. Virgil buried his face in his hands, letting out a distressed sound.

Finally, Logan surged forward, grabbing Virgil's wrists. "Starlight, it's alright."

Virgil startled, looking up at Logan with wide, mismatched eyes.

"We can manage, Starlight," Logan reassured. "I will always stand by you."

Thomas felt like he was intruding on something as Virgil's lip wobbled and his eyes watered.

"How could you forget? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Logan asked gently, his voice a kind croon.

"I didn't want to hurt you," Virgil insisted, practically falling into Logan's embrace. "I didn't want to hurt anyone- I thought I could just fade away, and my death would be just another bad memory."

Logan laughed, the sound bitter and wet. "I mourned you for ten years. The love of my life, and I thought him dead."

"I'm sorry. No matter how many times I say it, it will never be enough, but I'm so, so sorry." Virgil pushed his face against Logan's chest, buried his tears in his waist coat.

"Why did you hide from me, Virgil?" Logan asked, easing Virgil's face to meet his eyes.

"I’m not so stupid as to assume that I’m a good catch. I’m not very funny, and I’m not very charming. All I had going for me was my wealth. I… I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Virgil explained, stepping away from Logan and wiping his face on his sleeves. Thomas felt pity weigh his heart down like a brick.

“You stupid man,” Logan muttered. Virgil’s face turned red.

“What? What could you possibly see in me?” Virgil demanded.

“Everything,” Logan said simply. Virgil looked taken aback for a moment. Logan held his hand out for the taking. “I see everything I fell in love with and more. I see my Starlight.”

Thomas smiled. He was glad to see some joy brought from this day. Virgil chuckled, his hand falling into Logan's. Descartes’ stiff shoulders sagged in what seemed like relief.

"We should give them some privacy," Thomas mumbled.

"Yes, that was a positively repulsive display," Descartes proclaimed, though the smile on his face was unmistakable.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas takes Virgil to confront his father. Descartes and Logan come along for the ride. Roman has his regrets, and he begins to deal with them for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture me on my phone, writing this chapter and frantically trying to not make it too slow, in my bed curled up with my yellow salamander plush. That's an accurate image of my day most of the time.

Thomas and Descartes had spent long moments after that waiting by the river and tending to the horses while Virgil and Logan caught up.

At one point, Thomas had looked over to see Logan sitting beside the empty fire pit, Virgil's head in his lap, stroking Virgil's silky dark hair. It had looked so incredibly intimate that Thomas had felt his face grow warm and his heart skip a beat. Descartes had merely snorted and called him uselessly gay. Thomas hadn't really been able to argue, still flustered at the mere idea of that kind of tenderness with another man.

But it was all twinged with the aftertaste of that afternoon. A thick spite and bitter guilt. He worried that Virgil might still disagree, and refuse to go back to the city and explain himself. But there was no other option this time. Either Virgil revealed himself, or Remus Fitzroy faced prison as an innocent man. Or worse, a death sentence.

"We've given them enough time," Descartes muttered. "Who knows how many times Fitzroy has confessed to a nonexistent crime during questioning?"

"The more insistent he is, the harder our job will be," Thomas agreed, getting to his feet. The two of them headed towards the fire pit. Logan and Virgil parted and looked up at the pair of them.

Descartes broached the subject first. "We need to reveal you."

"I know," Virgil murmured. He shuddered. "I don't think I'm ready."

"I'll be with you every step of the way," Logan promised. "I couldn't possibly give this up so soon after being reunited."

"God," Virgil muttered, hiding his face with his hands. "I'm really, _really_ not ready."

"Will you ever be?" Thomas asked.

Virgil huffed. "Fair point."

"Then we should do this now. The sooner everything gets sorted out, the sooner we can have it all over with," Descartes reminded, grabbing his younger brother's hands and tucking some of his hair behind his ear.

Virgil sucked in a breath, his eyes watering. Descartes pressed his lips together and pulled Virgil's hood over his head.

"For now, you can take solace in this. You won't be paraded around the city. If Father is upset, I've been holding onto a sum of money to get you back out of town and set you up somewhere nice- if you'll finally let me. It's plenty to get Logan out with you, if you'd like," Descartes informed.

"D…" Virgil protested weakly.

"Let me take care of you," Descartes pleaded. "Please, Virgil."

Virgil merely pulled his hood further over his face. Descartes turned his gaze onto Logan, the softness disappearing but the plea still clear. Logan's shoulders relaxed a bit. "Thank you, Mister Dharke. I'm grateful for all you've done for Virgil."

The trek to town was spent deciding where they would reveal Virgil's identity. However, all plans flew out the window when they spotted someone at the police station, in front of the door.

"My brother isn't a killer!" Roman Fitzroy shouted. "Let me in, I demand to speak to him!"

"He's still in questioning," a police officer said, his voice short and clipped. "If you keep trying this sir, you'll get yourself sent back to the potato farms."

Roman reared back and the cop spat at his feet, slamming the door shut. Roman seethed, kicking the horse post outside the precinct.

"Roman, is everything alright?" Thomas called. Roman whirled around and his entire face lit up at seeing the thespian turned detective. Thomas couldn't help but flush as the stablehand dashed forward towards him.

"Thomas, thank God- you have to prove my brother didn't kill someone!" Roman pleaded. Thomas glanced sideways at Virgil, who was retreating into his cloak.

"Roman, there's not much I can do, Remus is insistent on confessing," Thomas said. Roman pulled at his hair, groaning.

"Why is my brother such an idiot!? If he was so sure Lady DeLite committed the crime, why would he confess!?" Roman shouted in frustration.

"I'm sure you can guess," Logan said pointedly, and his hand fell into Virgil's.

"Patton was in tears when he got home, and when he told me what happened I rushed down here. But they won't let me see Remus!" Roman said, glaring at the precinct.

"It's alright, Roman. We've got a solution to everything," Thomas promised. Roman looked at him, baffled.

"You just said there wasn't much you could do," Roman repeated.

"I can't do anything, no," Thomas reiterated. "But Virgil here can."

"Virgil?" Roman asked, and his eyes fell immediately upon the hooded unfamiliar figure in their little group. "Who are you?"

Virgil lifted his hood and lowered it from his face, carefully meeting Roman's widening eyes. Virgil smiled. Nothing as brilliant and beautiful as the paintings Thomas had seen, but a shy and pleasant little thing.

"Heya, Ro. Long time no see," Virgil greeted.

"Angie?" Roman blurted. Virgil flinched, and Roman reared back, immediately blustering. "I- I'm sorry, you probably hate that name, don't you? You're- you're _Virgil_ now- oh. Oh, you really had _everything_ to do with this, didn't you?"

"Don't cry, you goober," Virgil said, his own voice sounding wet and emotional.

"I'm not crying, I- I've got dust in my eye, you over dramatic gothic disaster!" Roman said, his shoulders shaking.

" _I'm_ over dramatic? Look who's talking!" Virgil teased, a broken laugh bursting from his lips.

"Well, if I ever do something more impressive than faking my death for ten years, I'll let you know! Then you can call _me_ over dramatic!" Roman protested. He punched Virgil in the arm. "I fucking _mourned you_ -"

"Why? You didn't even like me," Virgil argued.

"I loved you like a si- like a brother. One I didn't even know was there, apparently," Roman explained. Tears finally slipped down Virgil's cheeks.

"Thank you," Virgil whispered.

"If you'd told me years ago, I would've accommodated you," Roman promised. "And if you needed a place to go, you would've always had a bed on the DeLite estate, in the servant's quarters, if nowhere else."

"I'm sorry," Virgil said.

"No, I'm sorry," Roman insisted. "For not having been a person with whom you felt safe."

"Let's get a move on,"Descartes interrupted. "We only have so much time before they actually send Remus to prison for no reason, and we still need to show people the truth."

"What's the plan, then?" Roman asked, falling into step with the others.

"We're going to the Dharke estate," Thomas said. "Best to confront Lord Dharke with this before we do anything else."

They discussed possible outcomes and plans for Virgil as they made their way towards the estate. Roman promised Virgil had a place with him and the other DeLite estate workers. Descartes was sure he had the money to send Virgil and Logan wherever they wanted to go. Logan just promised Virgil that whatever happened, he would be behind him.

It warmed Thomas' heart to watch. A man so terrified of coming out he faked his own death, being lovingly accepted for who he was. He could only hope things remained so uplifting.

When they reached the grounds, silence fell over the group. Virgil stared wide eyed at the home he hadn't seen in ten years. Black wood, dark iron, crimson curtains in the windows, and foreboding hedges greeted him. Thomas couldn't imagine calling such a cold and intimidating manor "home".

"It's barely changed," Virgil murmured, hunching in on himself and retreating into his hood.

"Time stood still when Father lost you and Mother," Descartes said. Virgil curled into his brother's side, grabbing his arm.

"I'm not ready," Virgil insisted.

"Take a few deep breaths. It's time to step into the light," Descartes said. Virgil nodded, sucking in the biggest breath he'd taken that day. Logan slipped his hand back into Virgil's, offering him silent support. Roman and Thomas exchanged a fond glance.

Descartes was the one to knock on the door. However, it wasn't answered by the same maid servant as last time, but by Miss Remi Dharke. She was wearing trousers today, rather than a gown, and looked over the five of them with curiosity in her gaze.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"Father will be interested in what we have to say," Descartes informed.

"You should know better than anyone the tantrum Step-Father is throwing. After all, the Fitzroy boy _just_ confessed to murdering his precious little princess," Miss Dharke informed. She leaned against the doorway, studying her nails disinterestedly through tinted spectacles.

"He'll want to hear this anyway," Descartes assured. "And don't call Virgil a princess, please."

Remi raised her eyebrows, and her eyes skittered across the group of them before falling on Virgil. She straightened suddenly, her eyes going wide in recognition. "You're-"

"Virgil Dharke, pleased to meet you," Virgil greeted, sticking out a hand.

"Remi Dharke," Remi responded, shaking his hand on instinct, her words sounding faint. "Your step-sister. Though, sometimes brother is more accurate."

All five of the men at the door were taken aback, Thomas especially.

"And Father knows?" Virgil asked hopefully. Remi shook her head.

"About as much as he knows about you. But Mother knows and accepts it." Virgil wilted, but Remi looked him dead in the eye, lowering her dark glasses.

"You know, I thought maybe this was a reason you were- you know, everyone said it was suicide, and I thought… if I didn't have Mother, I might have done the same," Remi said. Virgil mustered a small smile. Remi smirked at him. "I get it. I really do."

Virgil let out a small laugh. "You do, don't you?"

"Where's the staff?" Descartes asked, easily recovering from his shock.

"Trying to weather Hurricane Dharke," Remi explained.

"May we see Lord Dharke?" Thomas asked. Remi blinked, humming thoughtfully.

"I'll go let Step-Father know he has callers, and you can follow me," Remi said decisively, turning on her heel and marching into the manor.

Descartes, Virgil, and Logan followed after her, but Roman hung back. Thomas hesitated, turning to Roman. "Aren't you coming along?"

"If I see Lord Dharke right now, I may do something I'll regret," Roman said. "I'll wait here. You go."

The manor was empty up until they reached the second floor. Servants were crowding the halls, and Lord Dharke could be heard destroying things in his study. Thomas paled as he heard the loud clattering inside.

Remi pushed past the servants and rapped sharply on the door. The manor fell silent.

"What!?" Lord Dharke snarled from inside.

"Mister Sanders is here," Remi informed through the door. There was a long silence. Virgil pulled his hood over his face nervously, and Logan wrapped his arm around him. Descartes shifted himself slightly in front of the pair.

Then, the door to Lord Dharke's study opened. The man exited, not a hair out of place, not a single wrinkle in his black suit.

"Mister Sanders. I will still pay you for the effort you expended this week," Lord Dharke said. He straightened imperiously, and the servants in the hall and surrounding rooms all fled to their work.

"Lord Dharke, with all due respect, my job isn't finished yet," Thomas informed.

"Of course it is. That Fitzroy fool killed my Angelica, and lied to me for a decade."

"Sir, I must insist that that isn't true. You asked me to solve a murder, but there was no murder to solve-"

Lord Edward Dharke glared at Thomas. "She didn't kill herself."

"She never existed," Thomas countered. He held out a hand towards Virgil, who reluctantly accepted it and allowed Thomas to pull him forward. "Lord Dharke, I'd like to introduce you to Virgil. Virgil Dharke. Your _second son_."

Virgil reached up and pulled his hood away from his face, painfully slowly. Mismatched green and blue eyes stared up at Lord Dharke, pleading for recognition, begging for acceptance.

Lord Dharke stared at Virgil with wide eyes. Virgil stepped back, wrapping his arms around himself. Logan pulled him in for a hug.

"You… my son?" Lord Dharke stammered, looking as though the entire world had rewritten itself. Thomas felt sympathy for the man. He'd learned all in one go that his decade dead daughter was actually alive and a man.

"My brother," Descartes spoke up. "I helped him arrange a fake death, Father. I… I killed Angelica so that Virgil could live. I don't regret my actions, either. They saved my brother's life."

"None of my blood would-"

"I nearly did," Virgil interrupted. Lord Dharke looked like he'd been slapped. Virgil pulled himself free of Logan's embrace, fully lowering his hood now and standing straight. He lifted his chin, looking at his father with an almost challenging gaze. "It- it isn't a _weakness_ to feel so low, Father. It takes strength to survive, yes, but that doesn't make those who don't weak. It makes them tired. Father, I was _so tired_ . I was tired of being Angelica, tired of not being _Virgil_."

"Virgil," Lord Dharke tested the name on his tongue. "Where did you come up with Virgil?"

"Logan- Mister Ackroyd, I mean, he suggested it," Virgil said. Logan smiled gently.

"I thought it fit well. A beautiful name for a beautiful man," Logan assured. Lord Dharke's eyes went wide as he looked between the pair of them.

"You never said you were feeling so stifled," Lord Dharke said, even as he studied Logan from head to toe.

"Would you have listened? Would Mother have listened?" Virgil asked. "I felt trapped. I saw you as a jailer first, a father second. I regret that now."

"You regret your perception?" Lord Dharke asked.

"I regret that we were not closer," Virgil clarified. Lord Dharke sucked in a breath, his piercing green eyes darting back to Virgil.

Thomas watched the pair as another silence stretched between them.

Finally, "I regret that as well. Son."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil prepares to come out to an entire village. His family talks some sense into him and convinces him to be keep his safety in mind. The sanctity of the post is violated. Roman gets some sense talked into him as well.  
> Stiff formal families are awkward families.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a more meta summary: this is a transitionary chapter as I deal with some important dialogue and discussion before we begin our resolution.

Virgil's eyes went wide and shiny, and as he looked up at Lord Dharke he trembled. Lord Dharke, in turn, looked far out of his comfort zone, and even more distressed at the idea that Virgil might cry. Instead Virgil smiled.

"I never thought you would call me your son," Virgil admitted.

Lord Dharke looked towards the walls, covered in family portrait after family portrait. "It would be wrong to force you to deny something you feel so strongly. If you feel you are my son, then you are."

"And if I was your son and I loved a man?" Virgil asked. Lord Dharke looked away from the grim family portraits and his gaze fell on Logan, who had been standing diligently by Virgil's side, their hands intertwined.

"I expect any partner you choose to be of a certain caliber. Our family has a reputation to uphold," Lord Dharke said after a moment. "However, it should make no difference to me if a man or a woman stands by your side."

Remi shifted awkwardly by the door. "I will give you all some privacy. Unless anyone would like to come join me in the tea room?"

"I should certainly like to," Descartes declared. "In fact, as we have important matters to discuss, perhaps we should all sit for tea and talk them over?"

"Matters?" Lord Dharke asked, having been distracted studying Logan once again.

"There is a simple misunderstanding over Remus Fitzroy's involvement in Virgil and Descartes' plot," Thomas said succinctly. Lord Dharke straightened.

"Right, yes. I can draft a summons to a court justice immediately and have all of this settled as quickly and privately as possible-"

"That's not going to work," Virgil interrupted. Everyone looked at him, surprised. Virgil swallowed. "Mister Fitzroy announced to the entire town that he killed me. He would never be able to live here in peace again, if we handled this privately."

"Virgil? What are you planning?" Logan asked.

Virgil steeled himself, straightening his back and squaring his jaw. "We have to reveal me. We have to show the whole town-"

"Starlight, that's- you won't be comfortable with that," Logan reminded.

"But I have to do it," Virgil insisted. "He'll never know peace if I don't come out and tell the whole town."

"Would that not be dangerous?" Descartes said carefully, studying his fingers.

"If it would put you in danger, I won't allow it," Lord Dharke said, his tone firm.

"Father!" Virgil protested.

Thomas frowned as he watched them argue. Virgil  _ would _ have to come out as a transgender man, but it didn't have to be a whole town. Expecting the whole town to accept Virgil as he was with no qualms was… was  _ dreaming _ . Still, Remus would have trouble being accepted back into civil society with the weight of his false admittance hanging over his head.

Thomas reached into his satchel, pulling out the small cream envelope sealed shut with blue wax. This letter contained Patton's response to Remus' invitation to run away. Thomas knew it would be an incredible breach of privacy to open the letter. Still, he slipped his finger under the envelope's lip and tugged gently, pulling the seal from the paper.

_ My Beloved Remus _

_ Guardian of my heart, apple of my eye, not a day has gone by that I haven't ached for your presence. I thought you had forgotten me, as soon as my mother chased you away. I thought that was where our relationship ended. I have missed you dearly since and am delighted to hear word from you. _

_ Which brings me to the word I heard. As terribly as I would miss my family, I would miss you far more. A man who loves me near unconditionally will always be a better home for my heart than a house as cold as mine. I know my mother tries, but you're right, for all our welcoming appearances my family shuns everything they cannot accept. _

_ All in all, I would love to get away with you. You didn't have to wait so long to ask just to save money either. If you were penniless I would go with you. As long as you will have me, I will have you in return. _

_ With much love and anticipation, Patton Fitzroy né DeLite _

Thomas felt both a rush of satisfaction and a flush of heated shame. He really,  _ really _ shouldn't have read that. He closed the letter and slipped it back into his bag. "Virgil, you don't have to worry about coming out to  _ everyone _ . Mister Fitzroy doesn't plan on staying in town."

"He doesn't?" Virgil blinked, wide eyed.

"He and Mister DeLite were planning to run off together before this entire debacle. Mister Fitzroy was simply waiting on his lover's word," Thomas informed. Descartes' eyes widened.

"That's what was in the letter! Oh, you  _ sly dog _ , reading another man's mail? For shame," Descartes teased, and Thomas blushed.

Virgil gripped Logan's arm, and the artist turned accountant touched his hand. "Whatever you decide, Virgil. Though I do think it'd be best to handle this affair as privately as possible, I don't want to take away your choice in the matter."

"Alright," Virgil acquiesced. He did a poor job disguising his relief at the conclusion, his shoulders relaxing. "Alright, we'll do this privately."

"Indeed," Lord Dharke said with a loud sigh as he squared his shoulders. "I will go draft the summons. Why don't you all retire for tea with Remi?"

Lord Edward Dharke entered his study once more, and the door shut behind him. Remi cleared her throat. "So! Coffee? Tea? Did you wanna invite your other friend in, too?"

"Yes, let's get our guests all situated," Descartes suggested, walking down the hall. Thomas and the others followed after him.

A maid servant was found dusting a vase around the corner, and Descartes asked her to set up six cups of tea in the sitting room. Remi corrected him with five, and one cup of coffee. The woman nodded and hurried to go complete her new task.

Thomas hadn't been in the sitting room in the Dharke household before. It was a jarring contrast to what he'd seen of the DeLite family's sitting room, all sunset colored and warm. The dark wood of the chairs was accented with velvet upholstery in the color of red wine. The walls were a dreary slate gray with dark wooden panelling covering the bottom third. The windows looked out on a dreary hedge garden with stone statues and a fountain in the center, thick wine red curtains on either side. There was a chandelier of black crystals hanging overhead, and iron wrought candle holders spaced throughout the room.

All in all, the Dharke family aesthetic held strong in the sitting room.

The maid servant returned with a tray. Remi smiled warmly. "Thank you, hon, could you also escort Mister Roman Fitzroy here? He's just out front."

"Of course, Ma'am," the maid said. She set the cups before each of them and gently pressed the last cup directly into Virgil's hands. "Chamomile, Master Virgil. One of your favorites."

"How did you…" Virgil trailed off, looking up at the maid. His cheeks turned pink. She smiled.

"We remember you very fondly, dear," the maid informed. She politely excused herself then, shuffling out of the sitting room. Virgil watched her go with a surprised look on his face.

"It's different then you thought it would be, coming back," Thomas guessed. Virgil nodded, taking a deep breath as he looked into his teacup.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's… not what I thought at all," Virgil said. "I imagined there would be… more anger."

"You imagined Mother," Descartes suggested.

"I guess so," Virgil agreed, and he took a sip of his tea. Remi cleared her throat.

"Well, I'm sure you heard, but the late Lady Dharke has been gone for a while now. Things are very different from how you probably remember them," Remi pointed out. She picked up the cup of coffee and made her way across the room, seating herself away from the table on a wooden and velvet couch. Virgil nodded at her words, looking dazed.

"I… he called me his son," Virgil stated.

"Because you are," Descartes stated. Virgil let out a weak chuckle, and his elder brother smiled tightly. "It's alright. I thought he would've taken longer to understand as well. It must be a reflection to how much he's missed you that he is willing to learn."

"I'm still angry at him for hurting you for all those years," Logan stated then, his fingers tapping a rhythmless beat against his cup. "But he is willing to change now. And while my opinion will always be that this came much too late, I do think that there is still a chance to start anew."

"Thank you, Logan. I know this can't be easy for you, after all this time," Virgil said. Logan hummed thoughtfully. Thomas wondered if the two had discussed the ten years they'd been apart while he and Descartes weren't listening. If Logan had explained how adamantly he had blamed Virgil's father.

"You clearly still love him. All I want is for you to be happy, Starlight," Logan countered.

"I'm so lucky to have you," Virgil said, his voice sounding thick. "I'm so lucky none of you are angry with me."

"How can we be? Someone we thought was lost to us has been returned!" Roman's voice announced his presence, and he strode into the room with a smile. "And Virgil- I must say, I apologize for all the mocking growing up. Coming from a home so dismal, you're downright sunshine!"

"Oh shut up," Virgil snorted. Roman grinned as he took the empty seat beside Thomas. His knee brushed against Thomas' as he reached for a tea cup.

"Miss Moore tells me the master of the house is calling upon a court justice?" Roman asked.

"Yes, and very likely a notary and a few police officers as well," Logan said. "After all, an innocent man is due to be released, and Virgil's papers will need to be altered."

Virgil smiled, small and delighted.

"It all feels too good to be true," Virgil said.

"Don't get too excited. You still have to explain yourself to Mister DeLite and Mister Fitzroy," Descartes reminded, and Virgil's face fell. "It's not that I don't think they will accept you. It's that the both of them have the most right to be upset, and we cannot ignore the possibility that either will lash out just because it frightens you."

"We can ignore that because it is  _ not _ a possibility," Roman proclaimed. "Virgil, Patton is going to be so happy that you're alive, nothing else will matter to him."

"Interesting how you can't defend your brother," Descartes commented drily. "Speaking of your brother, I can think of one thing that would matter to Mister DeLite."

"My brother is a largely unpredictable man," Roman said, choosing his words carefully. "I don't pretend to know how he will react to anything."

"If Remus is anything like I remember, he will not be phased," Logan assured. Virgil grimaced, clearly trying for a smile.

"Thank you, Logan," he said.

"Roman, you don't still condemn your brother, do you?" Thomas asked.

"Of course I do," Roman huffed. "He falsely accused the woman who took us in as her own of a crime that didn't even happen. I just don't understand how he could ignore everything she's done for us! She isn't the kind of person who would stoop to such-! How could he turn his back on her like that!?"

"Pardon my intrusion, but it seems to me that the real question is how could she turn her back on  _ him _ ?" Descartes cut in, and Roman turned to look at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Your brother was her ward, and Patton DeLite her son. If she truly cared for them both, she should have been overjoyed that they found love together- or at least she should have worked out a compromise through which she could still guarantee an heir. However, instead she threw Fitzroy out on the street because he loved Mister Delite," Descartes explained. "He had nothing and nowhere to turn to, of course he despised her."

Roman stared at him in silence, unable to respond as his mouth hung open.

"It's no wonder the two of them want to run away together," Virgil murmured.

"What?" Roman asked. "Run away together? Since when?"

"Since they parted, really," Thomas said, and he brought out the open letter once again. "It's quite romantic."

Roman spotted the baby blue seal, broken but still recognizable. He looked at his teacup and frowned. The whole group lingered in the silence.

It was much later that Lord Dharke exited his office once again, descending the stairway followed by his second wife, and her daughter. Lady Dharke was dressed in crimson with black lace trim, a brilliant burst of saturation among the dark shades of the Dharke manor.

Lord Dharke beckoned to the group of them, and Virgil got to his feet and slipped easily into the space under his father's arm. Thomas watched as the Dharke family, Remi and Descartes included, huddled together. The group of them almost looked like some sort of painting, perfectly posed and positioned into the image of a perfect family. The only reminder was Virgil's messy, stained and patched clothing in comparison to his family. The family broke apart briefly, and they all took their seats on the red velvet furniture.

"I've sent for a judge, the DeLite matriarch, and some of the police. But no one except the judge will have to know of the situation proper if you do not wish it, my son," Lord Dharke announced. Virgil, having settled alone in an armchair, smiled wanly.

"I think… I think Lady DeLite and the police should know. All the trouble I stirred should be put to rest," Virgil suggested. He looked back across the room towards Logan, who took this as an invitation to kneel at his armchair's side and grip his hand tightly.

"You're very strong, Starlight. You don't owe anyone an explanation, though," Logan assured.

"I feel as though I may deserve  _ some _ explanation," Lady Dharke proclaimed. "Son, Edward? Is this a legitimacy situation, or something else? Upstairs, you said-"

"Yes, this is Virgil, my second son with my late wife. Virgil, this is Elizabeth, your stepmother," Lord Dharke informed. He gestured at the young lady beside Lady Dharke. "And your stepsister, Melissa."

"Missy," the young Miss Missy Dharke corrected.

"I look forward to getting to know you both," Virgil said, though he looked too nervous to give his words much truth.

Thomas watched the Dharke family talk to one another, all pleasantries and frivolous words, none of them willing to challenge the easy swing of the conversation. Logan had since made himself comfortable on the arm of Virgil's chair, his hand a soothing gesture around him.

Thomas turned to Roman, giving the family on the other end of the sitting room a barely there sense of privacy. "Are you alright? Mister Dharke was a bit callous with you."

Roman shrugged. "It… makes sense. I had never thought of it like that before. I always thought… well, we owe Lady DeLite so much. I didn't think she might owe us anything in exchange."

"I imagine it's easier to think of when you are accustomed to being entitled respect and regard," Thomas commented. Roman flushed.

"I am respected and regarded," Roman protested.

"Not by Lady DeLite," Thomas countered, and Roman's jaw snapped shut. He looked down at his teacup and shrugged.

"She's a higher station. Things are as they are, can't change that," Roman said simply.

"You can leave," Thomas suggested. Roman's eyebrows jumped. Thomas folded his arms. "You've fulfilled your obligation, and it doesn't seem like your brother plans to stay. Nor does Logan. You can leave with them."

Roman hummed. "Maybe."

Thomas nodded.  _ Maybe _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :/ :\  
> Not sure how happy I am with this chapter but it was gonna weigh on me if I didn't just declare it finished.


End file.
